Patron Saint of Rock
by Supervillegirl
Summary: The Winchesters are brewing trouble once again, and Lucifer comes up with a plan to get them separated...possibly at the cost of Dean's life. Wingfic! Post The End.
1. Chapter 1

Patron Saint of Rock

**This story takes place directly after "The End."**

Prologue

The demon known as Meg watched as her father approached her. He was wearing the body of the widow named Nick. He stopped in front of her and smiled.

"You've been keeping an eye on the Winchesters?" Lucifer asked.

Meg nodded. "Yes, I have."

"And is there anything to be worried about?" asked Lucifer.

"Definitely," said Meg. "Sam called Dean last night."

Lucifer nodded. "I expected as much. Sam would definitely want to tell his brother that he is my vessel. I see no reason for concern."

"There wasn't at first," said Meg. "Dean refused to meet with Sam…his whole damn noble act. But this morning, Dean called Sam back." Lucifer looked at her. "They arranged a meeting."

Lucifer's eyebrows raised in interest. "A meeting?"

Meg nodded. "They're hunting together again."

Lucifer sighed. "Well, that wasn't anticipated."

Meg nodded, stepping closer. "What should we do?"

Lucifer put a hand to his chin, thinking. "If the brothers are together, Sam won't say yes…at least not for a while." He thought for another minute. "I need to get Dean out of the way." He looked at Meg. "I have an assignment for you."

Meg smiled wickedly.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Dean glanced over at Sam as they drove down the road at night. They had met that afternoon and agreed to work together. But, of course, things would take some time. Sam still had to regain Dean's trust, and Dean still had to work through his protective big brother issues. In the back of his mind, Dean knew, or at least suspected, that his way of coddling Sam and treating him like a kid had to be weighing on the kid. Dean wasn't blind; he could see how grown-up his Sasquatch of a brother was. It was just so hard to think of him as an adult.

Dean had always taken care of Sam and looked after him. And then he was supposed to just let the kid grow up? Dean didn't know if he could do it. He'd been the protective caregiver for twenty-six years, ever since Mary had come home from the hospital with his new baby brother. Even before John had given him his life's mission that night when he handed his six-month-old brother to him—_"Take your brother outside as fast as you can! Don't look back! Now, Dean! Go!"—_Dean had felt this strong urge to keep his brother safe.

Ever since a few months after Dean came back from hell, he could see a change in his brother. Sam had, had to grow up when Dean died, and it was partially…oh, who is he kidding, it was completely Dean's fault. He had tried to get Sam ready for when he would be gone. And it had worked; Sam had become almost like Dean himself: stubborn and independent. Dean had tried to back off and let his brother grow up, but something kept popping up that would shove that concerned big brother right back in place. And all it did was manage to push Sam away.

_Yeah, brilliant job, Dean,_ he thought. _You pushed Sam all the way into Ruby's arms. Way to go._

Dean knew that the apocalypse was not entirely Sam's fault. The Yellow-Eyed Demon, and mainly Ruby, was mostly to blame. Even Dean was to blame. After all, he's the one that pushed Sam away, enough that he chose a demon to trust instead of his brother.

_And look where that got him,_ Dean thought. _A back-stabbing bitch, a distant brother, and a freed Lucifer. Awesome._

Dean glanced over at Sam again, noticing the thin line of his mouth, the drawn brow, the vacant far-away stare. Dean tried not to take too much out on the kid; Sam was blaming himself enough. Hell, Sam was the king of self-blame and guilt. No one could throw a pity party quite like Sam could. Dean kept feeling this nudge that he should talk to Sam, probably tell him how he really felt, how he would let Sam be an adult. But Sam was not saying anything yet. Maybe Sam missed the old them: Dean teasing him and asserting his big brother status. Maybe he missed the way things were. So, Dean would keep it up until Sam said something.

"What?" said Sam.

Dean shook himself as he realized he'd been staring at Sam. "Nothing." He looked back at the road.

"So, what's our first move?" asked Sam.

Dean allowed himself a smirk at the fact that Sam was looking to Dean for direction. _Just like old times._ "Hotel. I'm beat. Where's the nearest town?"

Sam consulted the map in the glove compartment. "Uh, where are we?"

"Route 81 just outside of Granville," said Dean.

"Looks like another fifty miles at least," said Sam.

Dean rolled his eyes. "Great."

"So…" said Sam. "Looks like we got time for a long story."

Dean frowned at Sam. "What?" Sam gave him a look. "Oh, yeah."

"What made you change your mind?" Sam asked.

Dean took a breath. "Zachariah."

Sam frowned. "Come again?"

"Yeah, I know. He found me, thanks to Jehovah's Witness. I woke up in the year 2014."

Sam shook his head. "What is with you and time travel?"

Dean laughed. "I don't know, man."

"Why take you to the future?"

"To get me to say yes to Michael."

Sam laughed a little. "I take it, it didn't work."

"Not really. You should have seen it. The whole world was completely trashed. It was like getting sucked into _The Omega Man.' _Felt that way, too, for a minute. I was the only one around. Then I ran into the locals…freaking Croats."

"Croats?"

"Croatoans."

"No way."

"Yeah, worldwide outbreak. Fortunately, I was leading the resistance."

"Resistance?"

"Yeah, I was like John Connor. It was kind of cool."

"You mean, you saw yourself in the future?"

"Yeah."

"Did you see me?"

Dean said nothing as he stared out the windshield. After a moment, he finally spoke. "No, Sam. I didn't see you."

Sam nodded, looking down at the floor. "I was dead."

"No, you weren't."

Sam looked up and frowned at him. "Then why didn't you see me? I mean, we obviously are hunting together again. We wouldn't have been separated in…" Dean gave him a look as Sam realized Dean had returned to change the present. "Oh…we **were** separated….That's what you came back to change."

"Yeah, I did."

"Something had happened, didn't it? Something you had to fix."

Dean nodded. "Other than Cas…You should have seen him. It was pretty sad. He'd turned mortal after the angels left. He was getting stoned and going to orgies…I hardly recognized him." He paused after a moment. "Future me was practically wrecked. Five years of the apocalypse did not do me good. I was cold and twisted…using my friends as decoys…killing a Croat without a second thought, before they'd even shown symptoms…torturing demons for information."

"Torturing?"

"Like I said, I was twisted. I'll give him one thing, he did find the Colt…didn't tell me where it was, but…The last day I was there, we set out to kill the devil." Dean's voice grew quiet at the end of his sentence.

"I'm guessing it didn't work."

"Actually, I don't think he ever got the chance to use it. Lucifer killed him before he could."

"You died?" asked Sam. Dean nodded. "Five years, really? He told me his current vessel was an improvisation, that it wasn't strong enough. It's hard to believe that guy could hold Lucifer for five years." Dean sighed, avoiding Sam's look. "What?"

"He wasn't in the same body."

"He found another one?"

Dean took a deep breath. "Before we headed to kill the devil, Future me told me the deal. The way he talked about you, I had thought you died in Detroit. It wasn't true." He took another breath. "You hadn't died in Detroit…you said yes."

Sam frowned. "Yes?" Dean gave him a look. Sam's face fell. "No…He was lying."

"I saw it myself. Lucifer was wearing you to the prom."

Sam's eyes were frantic. "Why would I do that?"

"I don't know," said Dean. "But I think part of it was because of me." Sam looked at him. "Future me said we hadn't talked in five years."

"You came back to keep me from saying yes," said Sam.

Dean nodded. "Like I said: we keep each other human."

"Each other?"

Dean nodded. "Future me was begging me to say yes when I got back. He was desperate."

"How'd you get away from Zachariah when you got back?"

"Cas plucked me from the room. That's when I called you."

Sam shook his head. "Dean…how can we fight that?"

Dean frowned. "What do you mean?"

"It's already happened. You've seen it. It's going to happen. I'm going to let Lucifer in, and he's going to kill you."

"We don't know that."

"Yes, we do, Dean."

"You know what I mean. Nothing's written in stone. That may have been our future once, but we can change it. Hell, we already have! Future me said we hadn't talked in five years. We changed that future. We can change it again." Sam looked down at the floor. "Don't you give up on me now, Sammy."

The use of the nickname had been deliberate: some reconciliation of their status as brothers. Dean wanted Sam to know he was still his brother, no matter what fallen angel he'd freed from hell.

It appeared to work as Sam looked up at him and smiled a little. "Okay, Dean."

Reassured, Dean continued his drive towards the motel.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Two

Dean and Sam headed to a local bar the next day, deciding to take the day off to get used to being brothers again. They sat down at a table, ordered two beers, and waited for the waitress.

"So, what have **you** been up to the past week?" asked Dean.

"Well, I got a job at a bar," said Sam. "Busboy."

"Really?" asked Dean.

"Yeah."

"Sounds exciting."

Sam didn't laugh like Dean expected. He just grew quiet. "Too exciting."

Dean frowned. "What do you mean?"

"A couple days ago, a hunt sprang up near my town," Sam explained. "So I called Bobby so he could call other hunters. Reggie, Steve and Tim showed up." Dean nodded, showing he remembered the hunters. "That night, Tim and Reggie came back. Steve had been killed by demons. The demons told Tim about the whole…demon blood and Lucifer's cage and everything."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Let me guess: they didn't take the news well."

Sam shook his head. "Not well at all." He took a breath. "He wanted me to take care of the demons."

"Did he know you were clean now?"

"Oh, he knew. He brought a vial of demon blood. I tried to fight 'em off, but they overpowered me, and…" He looked down at the table. "They shoved it down my throat."

Dean's eyes widened. "You mean, you're…"

"No," said Sam. "I spit it out."

"What'd you do with them?"

"Scared 'em off," said Sam.

"You didn't take care of them?" said Dean.

Sam looked up at him. "Dean, they're human. I'm not gonna kill them. The only person they had even hurt was me."

"Exactly," said Dean, getting to his feet, probably to track them down and beat them.

Sam grabbed Dean's arm. "Dean, leave it. We're not gonna go hunt them down. It's fine."

Dean ran a hand across his face before taking his seat again. "Fine. But the next time I see them, I'm giving them a piece of my mind."

"Fair enough," said Sam.

The waitress brought their beers, set them on the table, and left.

"Doesn't mean I have to be happy about it," said Dean.

"You're not alone," said Sam.

They took a drink of their beers.

"So…" said Dean. "You and me…archangel puppets."

Sam huffed out a chuckle. "Yeah."

"Who would've thought," muttered Dean. He looked at Sam. "Why does everything seem to happen to us?"

Sam laughed. "Who knows. Maybe the supernatural world really does revolve around us."

"You think?" muttered Dean, taking another swig.

"Where are we headed after this?" asked Sam.

Dean laughed, shaking his head. "Well, aren't you eager to get back into the game."

"Lucifer's not gonna kill himself, Dean."

"Hey, there's an idea. We'll Facebook him, telling him what a miserable bastard he is. Maybe he'll jump off a cloud." Sam laughed. "Sure would save us the trouble."

"I don't know, man. I don't think that'll work. Angels don't really keep up with modern technology."

"Fine, we'll get Cas to start spreading mean rumors. Maybe he'll hang himself with his own halo."

Sam laughed. "Well, good luck with that."

Dean took another drink, settling down. "I don't know what our next move is. I don't know where the Colt is, I don't know where the devil is, hell, I don't even know if the Colt will actually work. But what I do know is that I was wrong. We **do** need each other. We watch each other's backs, we take care of each other. Going our separate ways won't fix anything. It'll just make it worse. If we're gonna do this, we do it together."

Sam nodded, looking down at his beer. He looked back up at Dean with a goofy smile on his face. "That was beautiful, Dean."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Shut up."

Sam laughed as Dean took a drink of his beer. "So, what do you want to do?"

Dean frowned. "Why this sudden interest in what **I** want to do? Don't you want any input?"

Sam shrugged. "No, it's…"

Sam couldn't really explain why he was suddenly asking Dean to take the lead. Maybe he did miss Dean being the big brother…sometimes. Most of the time, though, it was annoying as hell. Truth of the matter was that Sam still didn't trust himself. He could no longer sit out of the fight now that he'd been yanked back in, but he still didn't trust himself to call the shots. For the moment, he was glad to take a back seat on everything…for the moment.

"Just getting back into a swing of things," said Sam.

Dean nodded. "Well…maybe just hang out for a day or so…just enough to 'get back into the swing of things.' We'll take it from there in a few days." He looked down to see they had emptied their beers. "I'll get us another round."

Dean got to his feet and headed for the bar. He approached the counter, catching the bartender's attention.

"Two beers, please," said Dean.

The bartender nodded, finishing up her previous order.

"Rough day?" asked a man at the bar next to him.

Dean looked over to see a middle-aged man in rugged clothes. "Sort of."

The man nodded. "I expected. The name's Mark."

Dean frowned. "Dean." He turned back towards the bar to wait for his beers, hoping the man left him alone.

"Well, Dean, here's to drinking the pain away," said the man, raising his own drink.

"Actually, me and my brother are hanging out," said Dean.

The man raised his eyebrows, looking interested. "Oh, really? Well, where is he?"

"Look, pal, I don't know you, so, uh…" began Dean as the bartender headed in his direction.

"Sorry," said the man. "Sometimes I overstep my boundaries. Didn't mean to offend you."

"Okay, then," said Dean as the bartender put the beer bottles on the counter. "Nice talk." He turned to grab the beers.

"It was," said the man.

Dean looked in confusion at the man, leaning on the counter. The man was looking at him in a way that made him very uncomfortable. Dean took a drink from one of the beers. The man looked over Dean's shoulder.

"Is that your brother?" asked the man.

Dean looked over at Sam back at the table. Sam was shifting a napkin in between his hands, waiting for Dean. He heard the man shift in his seat and looked back to see him settling into his chair. "Uh…yeah."

"He looks like a nice young man," said the man.

"Yeah…" said Dean, reached for the beers. "He is…I guess."

The man smiled at Dean. "You take care of him, don't you?"

Dean frowned again. _This guy is really starting to creep me out. _"Yeah…"

The man nodded, still smiling. "How noble of you…taking care of your brother. You truly are a wonderful person."

Dean began edging away from the guy. "Okay…well…I gotta go now, but…it was nice talking to you…sort of…"

The man looked Dean up and down. "You know, you really are a beautiful being."

"Coming, Sam!" Dean called as he hurried away from the guy.

Sam turned as Dean approached. "What?"

Dean placed the beers on the table and dropped into his chair, shoving the one he hadn't drank out of across to Sam. "Oh, my God. This guy at the bar...would not leave me alone. I think he was trying to score a date."

Sam laughed as he took a drink of his beer. "What's the matter? He wasn't your type?"

"Shut up," muttered Dean, taking another drink. He sighed as he set his beer down. "Oh, now **this** is the good stuff."

Sam frowned. "It's the exact same brand as the first one."

Dean frowned, looking down at his bottle. "Huh…maybe it's better the second time around."

Sam chuckled. "Maybe."

Pretty soon, they ran through their second beers, and Dean headed to the bar to get their third round. Sam waited ten minutes before turning around to see where Dean had disappeared to. Dean stood at the bar, talking to a blonde girl. He was laughing and leaning heavily against the bar. Sam frowned and headed over towards him.

Dean was in the middle of telling the blonde something. He looked drunk. "…so, my brother and I are trying to find a way to kill the devil. Then we can—"

Sam jumped forward. "And I think you've had enough to drink, Dean."

Dean frowned at him, his eyes going crossed. "No, I haven't." He looked at the blonde. "Gloria, this is my brother Sam. He's Lucifer's vessel, and—"

"Dean, time to get back to the motel," Sam interrupted, pulling him away from the girl. He dragged his brother towards the bar door. Dean's feet would not cooperate, and he was stumbling into Sam. Sam made it out the door before spinning Dean towards him. "What's wrong with you?"

"What do you mean?" Dean frowned. His eyes would not focus, and he was swaying back and forth.

"I have never seen you this hammered," said Sam. "How many beers did you have?"

"Um…I had…" Dean looked down at the ground, trying to think. He stared at the ground, eyes becoming unfocused again. He stayed that way for a moment.

Sam spread his arms out, waiting for him to answer. "Dean!"

Dean jumped a little and looked up at Sam. "What?"

"How many beers did you have?" asked Sam again.

"Oh, uh…" said Dean, thinking again. "I had…three."

Sam frowned. "Three beers? And you're halfway to pink elephant land? What's going on?"

"Hey, I'm fine," said Dean, slurring his words. "You're the one who can't hold his liquor."

"I'm not the one about to fall on my ass," said Sam.

"Well, you sure look like it," slurred Dean.

"That's 'cause your vision is spinning," said Sam, trying to grab his arm to lead him to the Impala. Dean shrugged his arm out of Sam's reach, overbalancing and falling to his knees. "Yeah, you're perfectly fine." Sam pulled Dean to his feet.

"I am, Sammy," said Dean, fumbling with his keys that he'd pulled out of his pocket. "Come on, I'll drive us back to the motel." He began heading into the parking lot.

"Oh, no, Dean," said Sam, darting forward and yanking the keys out of Dean's hand. "You are not driving, Dean."

"Why not?" Dean pouted, swaying as he turned towards Sam.

"You don't even know where the car is, Dean," said Sam.

"Sure I do," said Dean, heading back to the way he'd been going. "It's this way."

"Dean," said Sam. Dean looked at him. Sam pointed to their left. "It's that way."

Dean frowned as he looked over where Sam was pointing. He spotted the Impala and looked at Sam. "Like I said, it's this way." He began to stumble towards it.

"No, Dean," said Sam. "Passenger seat."

"Sam, I'm perfectly…" Dean trailed off, frowning, "…perfectly…fine."

"Dean?" asked Sam, rushing forward.

Dean looked up at Sam, his eyes suddenly more lucid than they'd been in the last ten minutes. "Sammy…I don't feel so…" Dean's eyes rolled up into his head as his legs collapsed under him.

"Dean!" said Sam as he caught Dean on his way down. He gently sat Dean on the pavement, moving around in front of him. "Dean?" Dean would not respond. "Dean!" Dean was slumped in Sam's arms, giving no response.

Sam pulled Dean into his arms, carrying him over to the Impala.

**********************SN**********************

Sam put his cell phone onto the table, wondering if he should call Bobby or Cas for help. Dean was lying on the motel bed, and he'd been asleep for five hours now. He still wasn't responding to anything Sam did. Sam looked over at his brother, really beginning to worry.

_What if someone drugged him?_ Sam wondered. _What if this is how they're trying to stop Dean?_

Sam heard a moan from the bed, and he jumped forward, settling down next to the bed. Dean was frowning in his sleep.

_A nightmare?_ Sam wondered. _Is he in pain?_

Dean fidgeted under the covers, moving his head around. He began moaning more as he curled up on himself on his side.

"Dean?" asked Sam.

Dean didn't respond, but only fidgeted more. He began groaning and breathing rapidly. His hand clutched the covers, his knuckles white.

"Dean?" said Sam again, reaching a hand forward.

Dean suddenly threw his head back as he began yelling. His back arched as his arms reached for his back, as though trying to get something off of him. Sam could only watch as Dean yelled in pain.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Three

Dean came back to awareness very slowly. His head felt like it was splitting apart, and there was an odd ache on his back. It felt like there was an extra weight on both of his shoulder blades. He could tell he was lying on his left side in the bed, but he couldn't remember how he'd gotten back to the room. He moaned, bringing a hand to his face.

"Dean?" Sam asked right in front of him.

"Dude, remind me to never have…" Dean began, thinking. He opened his eyes, squinting at Sam, who sat in a chair next to the bed. "What did I have last night?"

Dean got his first good look at Sam. _Something's wrong._

Sam was staring at Dean with a freaked look on his face.

"Three beers," Sam answered.

Dean frowned. "Three beers? I had to have had a buttload more than three beers to have the hangover from hell."

"Trust me, Dean. You had three beers."

"You sure?"

Sam nodded. "What do you remember?"

Dean closed his eyes, trying to shake off that weird feeling on his back. What was strange was he could have sworn he heard something ruffling…like feathers. "Um…we stopped by the bar for a drink…After the first round, I went to get our second…And that guy was at the bar, trying to get close to me…Then I went back for our third round…and started talking with this girl…That's the last thing I remember."

"Well, I found you telling her all about our lives. Hunting and everything."

"Really?"

"You were delirious, Dean."

"Damn, I must have been. I've never been that drunk before. And only after three beers? You think I was drugged?"

"Nothing else explains it. I got you to the parking lot and you passed out…ten hours ago."

"Man…" said Dean. A thought suddenly occurred to him. "You don't think something was trying to get to me? You know, a supernatural drug?"

"I'd say so," Sam muttered.

Dean looked up at his brother. Sam seemed to be staring at the bed behind Dean. "Sam…What's going on?"

Sam looked back at Dean's face. "About five hours after I brought you back here, you started yelling in pain. I didn't know what to do. I couldn't wake you up. You kept reaching for your back and yelling, so I pulled the blankets back, and…" He was staring at the floor, lost in the memories.

"Sam," Dean urged.

Sam looked back up at him. "Look behind you, Dean."

Dean frowned. "What?"

"Just look behind you."

Dean turned his head, trying to look over his shoulder. His field of vision was obscured by white, so he lifted his head a little to look around the pillow…when he realized it wasn't a pillow. His eyes widened as he realized just what he was staring at.

A broad expanse of white feathers took up the space behind him. The feathery appendage curved away from his back, stretching down the bed to his calves.

_No,_ Dean thought. _No, no, no._

He had **wings.**

Dean jumped out of the bed, rushing to the bathroom door, which had a full-length mirror on it. Dean spun away from the mirror and looked over his shoulder at his reflection. The wings connected to his shoulder blades, sprouting out of his skin. The pink flesh melded into white feathers, seeming to have no break between the two. The wing joints curved up to the height of his head before dropping down to his calves. The feathers were pure white.

Dean brought his hand back, reaching up to the point where wings became skin. He could feel a newer, lighter bone sprouting from his shoulder blades, forming the wings. The feathers felt like…nothing. Like air made solid, they were so soft and smooth.

Dean turned his head back to Sam, who now stood in front of him. "What the hell, Sam?"

"I didn't do it!" Sam defended.

Dean turned to face the mirror, looking at his reflection. The wings framed his body, making him look like John Travolta, only less fake-looking. "What happened to me?"

"I don't know, Dean," said Sam. "Like I said, supernatural drug."

Dean frowned. "And giving me wings would do what? I can't see how this is gonna take me out of the fight. And if it was the angels…I mean, I know they want me to say yes to Michael, but isn't this taking things a bit far?"

"How would they have gotten the drug to you?" asked Sam.

"Well, I started feeling funny after the second beer," Dean told him. His eyes widened. "The guy…the guy at the bar! It was him!"

"The guy trying to hit on you?"

"What if he wasn't? What if he was trying to throw me off enough to spike my beer?" His eyes widened again. "He asked about you. He drew my attention towards you so I would look away from the beers. He's the one that did this to me!"

"Why?"

"I don't know, but I'm gonna kill him." Dean began heading for the door.

Sam jumped in front of him, hands on Dean's chest. "Dean, you can't go out like that."

"It's close enough to Halloween," Dean told him, trying to get around Sam.

"No, Dean, you're not gonna kill him."

"Move it, Sam. I've got some holy wrath to dish out."

Dean managed to get past Sam, but Sam thought fast and grasped the wing-joints of both wings. Dean was halted in his tracks.

"Let me go, Sam!" Dean yelled.

"No, Dean, I'm not letting you kill him."

"The guy turned me into a bird-man! That deserves the death penalty!"

"He's human, Dean! He might've been possessed or something! We don't know the whole story here! I am not letting you kill anyone!"

Sam could feel Dean's muscles relax under his hands—and did that feel weird, knowing that it was Dean's muscles in those wings. Sam watched the struggle ease out of Dean's body.

"Fine," said Dean. "We'll figure this out before we kill him."

Happy with that answer, Sam released Dean's wings. Dean pulled away from Sam, turning towards him. Dean's shoulders shuddered, as though he had an itch on his back. His wings spread a little as they shuddered also. The feathers stiffened for a moment before the wings settled against Dean's back.

"Don't you ever do that again," said Dean.

"Do what?" asked Sam.

"Grab the wings," said Dean. "That's cheating."

Sam laughed. "I'll keep that in mind."

Dean looked down at his bare chest, seemingly noticing his lack of shirt for the first time. "Where's my shirt?"

Sam pointed at the floor next to Dean's bed. Dean spotted a tattered cloth and picked it up. His T-shirt was in shreds.

"What'd you do, cut it off?" asked Dean.

"It shredded," said Sam. "I mean, I watched those wings burst right out of your back, ripping through your shirt."

Dean laughed. "Dude, I'm like the Hulk."

"More like Angel."

Dean frowned. "From Buffy?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "The guy with wings from the X-Men."

Dean smiled. "Oh, yeah. Alright, first thing's first. I'm hungry."

"Alright, I'll go get us something."

"No, I'm coming with."

Sam looked at him. "Have you seen yourself?"

"Like I said: it's only a week away from Halloween. We'll pull it off as an elaborate costume."

"Dean—"

"Come on, Sammy. I'm already pissed and starting to get a little stir-crazy here."

Sam rolled his eyes, knowing he wouldn't win. "Fine."

Dean smiled, heading for his duffel and grabbing a shirt. He then looked at the shirt and glanced at his wings. "New problem."

"Could always go without. You've always wanted an excuse to go shirtless."

Dean glared at him. "Ha-ha." He glanced over at the table, where a knife sat. "There we go." He headed to the table, setting the shirt down and picking up the knife. "Time to improvise."

Dean sized up the shirt and then made two long cuts on the back, cutting from the bottom of the shirt to the shoulder blades. The flap of material fell to the table. Dean pulled his arms through the sleeves, sliding his head through the collar. The back of the shirt from the wings down was missing. Dean grabbed the piece of cloth and held it out to Sam.

"Tape me up," said Dean.

Sam rolled his eyes and grabbed the cloth, reaching for a roll of duct tape in one of their bags.

"I'm gonna tape the inside so it's not as noticeable," said Sam.

"Whatever," said Dean, turning his back towards Sam.

Sam pulled a long piece of tape off and positioned the scrap of shirt. He reached the tape up under the shirt, taping it to the rest of the shirt. Five minutes later, he was finished.

"Alright," said Dean, grabbing an old jacket from his duffle. "Now the jacket."

Sam rolled his eyes once again as they went to work.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Four

Sam pulled into the parking lot of a diner, parking the Impala in the darkened back area. He turned the car off.

"We're here," said Sam.

"Thank God," came Dean's voice from the backseat.

Sam climbed out and looked around. He opened the back door of the car. "All clear."

Dean was lying face down on the backseat, legs crunched up to fit. He crawled out of the car, making sure the wings were clear from the frame. He stood up and stretched his limbs, turning his neck from side to side. As he stretched, the wings spread out, stretching up on either side of him. The feathers fluttered as the muscles in the wings stretched. The wings stretched ten feet above Dean's head, reminding Sam of Cas. He'd only seen his "shadow" wings once, but it had been amazing. That's what Sam was reminded of while Dean relaxed his muscles, unknowingly keeping the wings up: a white-winged, hard-faced, leather-clad Castiel.

"Uh, Dean?" said Sam.

Dean looked at him. "What?"

Sam pointed at the wings. "Mind putting those away?"

Dean glanced up and back, spotting the wings. Dean looked around to see if anyone saw him, and the wings automatically swept in toward his body behind his back. It seemed as though the wings operated on Dean's unconscious thoughts, moving without his complete control.

Dean looked to see Sam staring at him. "What?"

"Try and control those things, would ya?" said Sam.

"Hey, you're not the one with a ten-foot wingspan crammed in the backseat," Dean told him.

Sam laughed as they made their way around to the front. Dean began feeling a little embarrassed.

_What was I thinking?_ Dean thought.

Sure, it was close to Halloween and people were dressing up, but Dean began to worry about being the only one in a costume. As they headed towards the front, Dean looked through the windows to see the place decorated heavily for Halloween, and all the workers (and the occasional customer) wore costumes.

Dean breathed out a sigh of relief. _Thank God they're really into Halloween._

As he followed Sam through the front door, Dean slapped on a cocky smile, standing taller. The trick was to **act** confident. If it really was a costume, he wouldn't look embarrassed.

A waitress in nursing scrubs walked up, admiring Dean's wings. "Cool costume."

Dean smiled. "You're not so bad yourself."

The waitress smiled. "I'm Amber."

"Dean," he told her.

"Dean…" Amber breathed. "Those wings look amazing."

"That's not all they do," Dean said.

Dean slightly shrugged his shoulders, and the wings snapped out on either side of him. Each wing was five feet long, stretching from one side of the diner to the other.

"They also work," said Dean.

Dean was getting several appreciative stares from the people in the diner. Sam stared as she retracted the wings. It was the first time Dean had consciously moved them.

"Wow," said Amber. She looked over at Sam.

"This is my brother Sam," Dean told her.

Amber looked Sam up and down. "Where's his costume?"

"He's the devil," said Dean. "Under that mop on his head, little tiny horns."

Amber looked at Dean incredulously. "The devil?"

"Yeah, pitchforks are so over-rated. In reality, the devil looks like anyone else because he has to possess someone to get around."

"Well, you certainly know a lot about the devil," said Amber.

"Well, I am an angel," said Dean.

Amber smiled, grabbing two menus. "Right this way."

Dean smiled at Sam, who was shaking his head at him. Dean frowned. "What?"

Sam smiled. "You don't let anything stop you from hitting on girls, do you?"

"Hell, no," said Dean.

Amber led them to the counter so Dean could sit with the wings hanging over the stool. They ordered and sat down to eat.

******************SN*******************

"Oh, man, I've never gotten so many phone numbers before," said Dean, pocketing the pieces of paper. "Well, you know, in one place."

"Well, I'm glad you enjoyed yourself, because now we're going to Bobby's," said Sam.

"We are?" asked Dean.

"He'll be able to figure out what's going on," said Sam.

"Shouldn't we try to find the guy that did this?"

"Do you really think he's gonna stick around? Trust me, he'd be long gone."

Dean shrugged. "Fine."

As they headed back to the car, they heard a scream from behind the diner. Checking that they had their guns, they rushed to the back area, finding two guys cornering Amber the waitress. One had his hand up her skirt, and the other had put his hand over her mouth.

"Hey!" Dean yelled.

The two guys startled and looked up at Dean.

"Dude, check him out," said one guy.

Dena frowned for a moment before remembering he had wings. Sam and Dean both drew their guns.

"Let her go," said Sam.

"Or what?" said the other guy. "You're gonna shoot us? Doesn't that go against your 'angel code'?" They both laughed.

"God hates a sinner, you know," said Dean, cocking his gun.

The other two stepped away from Amber and pulled out their own guns, pulling the triggers. Without thinking, Dean jumped in front of Sam, shielding him as he threw his arms up in front of him. To his surprise, the wings flew up in front of him, crossing each other to shield his body. Dean heard metallic pings and watched four bullets fall to the ground in front of him, flattened. There was silence as Dean moved the wings down in shock. He let them fall to his sides as Sam stared at them; there wasn't a scratch.

Dean looked over at Sam, smiling. "Dude, I'm Clark Kent with wings!"

Taking advantage of Dean's lapse in attention, one of the guys fired a shot off, hitting Dean in the back of the shoulder just above the cover of his right wing. Dean fell forward, and Sam caught him, lowering him to the ground.

"Dean!" said Sam.

Dean groaned in pain, and Sam picked up his gun. He spun towards the two guys, firing off two knee-shots. The thugs crumpled to the ground, moaning in pain. Sam dropped his gun, turning to Dean and kneeling over him. Dean lay on his back, wings tucked under him.

"Dean?" asked Sam. "You okay?"

"Do I look okay?" said Dean, bringing his left hand up to his right shoulder. "Dammit."

"Okay, we should…" Sam stared in shock at Dean.

"What?" asked Dean.

But his question was answered for him when he felt his body shift. There seemed to be less under his right side than his left. He looked over to see his right wing bent forward, covering his gunshot wound.

"What the…" began Dean.

He felt this warmth spread from his heart towards the right side of his back. As he felt the heat slip into the right wing, the wing began glowing with a golden-white light. The warmth then spread to his shoulder as he felt something slide out of the gun wound. He moaned as whatever it was rubbed against his frayed nerves.

"Dean?" Sam asked, concerned.

The pain stopped, and they heard the metallic clunk on the pavement. Sam reached down and held up a bloody bullet. The glow in the wing faded as the warmth did also. The wing retracted back behind Dean, and they saw that the bullet wound was healed.

Sam frowned. "Okay, so, not only do you have wings of steel, but they heal, too?"

"Apparently," said Dean. He got up, and they looked over to see Amber staring at Dean.

"You're an angel, aren't you?" asked Amber.

Dean decided to take the easy way out. "Yeah. I'm the archangel Michael. What were you doing out here?"

"Came out for a smoke," Amber answered.

"Well, I think this is God's way of telling you to quit," said Dean.

Amber nodded vigorously, digging in her pocket and throwing out her pack of cigarettes before running back inside.

Sam looked at Dean. "The archangel Michael?"

"Hey, it was half right," said Dean. "Come on, let's get out of here before the cops come."

******************SN********************

Michelle walked into the house she lived in with the rest of the group. She walked past the rest of the group in the house and entered the room in the basement. Mark, Roger and Tammy were preparing the room for their special visitor.

"Is it ready?" asked Michelle.

Mark, the one who had given the potion to the angel, looked up. "Almost. It has to be perfect."

"Yes, it does," said Meg as she entered the room. She smiled at Michelle. "How is our dear Michael?"

"You were right," said Michelle. "He is, indeed, the archangel. The potion revealed his true self. His wings are magnificent. He even saved my coworker Amber."

"Excellent," said Meg. She noticed the uncertain look on Michelle's face. "What is it?"

"He left," announced Michelle. Everyone in the room stopped in shock. "He left town with the other one. He didn't come to find us. Doesn't he want to save the world?"

"I was afraid of this," muttered Meg.

Intrigued, the other scooted closer.

"What?" asked Roger.

"He does not remember," said Meg. "We've given him his true form back, but his memory is still altered. We may need to remind him."

"How?" asked Tammy.

"We may have to bring him here…by force," said Meg.

"By force?" asked Mark.

"Once we begin teaching him, he will remember and be grateful," Meg told them.

"How do we find him?" asked Tammy.

"Leave that to me," said Meg as she walked out of the room, eyes turning black as she smiled wickedly.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Five

Okay, I know you guys were banking on a new chapter, but I realized I forgot that Bobby is in a wheelchair in season five, so I altered this chapter, but I'm typing up the new one as you read this, so it'll be out later today.

**Sorry about the long break, guys. I changed my major so I had to figure that all out. Then my old major classes dropped me since I wasn't in that major anymore, so I had to work everything out with financial aid and health insurance and housing. Then I moved and the housing people delayed the actual move for almost three weeks. I had my stuff all packed in boxes for two weeks. Then I was finishing my book, which is being published in three months. So, I finally finished everything and can focus on the story again. YAY!**

"Alright, we're here," Sam told Dean, who lay in the backseat once again. "Don't get out yet. I'll tell Bobby what's going on and then open the door."

"Well, make it snappy," Dean muttered. "These things are starting to cramp."

Sam parked the Impala in the yard, and Bobby wheeled his chair over.

"Alright, what's the emergency?" Bobby asked as Sam climbed out. Bobby looked at the passenger seat. "Where's Dean?"

"In the backseat," said Sam.

Bobby looked towards the backseat, frowning. "Why isn't he getting out? And why's he covered with a blanket?"

Sam could see Bobby's mind jumping to the worst scenario: a dead Dean in the backseat, covered with a blanket.

"That's not a blanket," said Sam.

"It's not?" asked Bobby. "What the hell is going on?"

Sam simply opened the back door. Dean immediately crawled out of the back, standing next to the Impala and stretching the wings out.

"Ugh…longest car ride of my life," Dean growled.

Bobby stared in shock at Dean's outstretched wings, and then rolled his eyes. "Dammit, boys."

"We didn't do anything," Dean defended.

"Who'd you sleep with?" Bobby asked Dean.

"Hey, that only happened one time!" Dean said.

Sam laughed. None of them were about to forget the time when Dean was nineteen and had a one night stand with a girl that turned out to be a witch. She'd taken her revenge on Dean the next night in the form of a curse. Dad had brought them to Bobby for a cure. Sam would never forget the brief time that he'd had a sister.

"It was a potion, we think," said Sam.

"You think?" asked Bobby.

"Only explanation," said Dean. "Some dick slipped it into my beer."

Bobby turned toward his house. "Come on."

Bobby used the ramp they'd put up on the stairs. They followed him inside, Dean having to turn sideways to make it through the door.

"It's gonna take a while," said Bobby. "Without knowing what this potion was, it's gonna be hard to find a way to fix it."

"Great," said Dean.

"Look on the bright side," said Sam.

"What bright side?" asked Dean.

"At least you won't ever have to get on a plane again," smiled Sam.

"Shut up," muttered Dean, shoving Sam. "I'm gonna get some air."

"Just stay out of sight," called Bobby as Dean headed for the door. "I don't need my neighbors turning my place into Area 51."

"Yeah, yeah," said Dean, heading out the front door.

Dean stood in the woods near Bobby's property, leaning against a tree. He thought about what would happen if they found a cure. Sure, the wings made him look like a freak and he wanted them gone. But Dean thought about how useful they'd been so far. They're bulletproof and they heal.

_They'd sure come in handy in a hunt,_ Dean thought.

Dean found himself mildly torn between getting rid of them and keeping them.

_What harm could it do? _Dean thought. _Would make going places harder, though. And picking up chicks? Forget it._

But wasn't saving people more important?

Dean thought about what Sam had said earlier: _"At least you won't ever have to get on a plane again."_

Dean wasn't even sure he would be able to fly if he tried. Dean spotted the edge of a small ravine nearby.

_What better time to find out?_ Dean thought.

He walked up to the edge of the ravine, which was only twenty feet deep. The other side of the ravine was sixty feet across from him. Dean stared down into the ravine, shifting back and forth on his feet in preparation. He didn't feel nervous or anxious. This was completely different than being on a plane.

The real reason he hated flying, he supposed, was that he wasn't in control. His life was in the hands of a megaton steel tube that was never meant to leave the ground. This, however, was much more natural. Birds flew with their wings all the time. You never saw a bird just suddenly drop out of the sky. If a bird could do it, why not him?

Dean looked behind him and experimentally stretched the wings out on either side of him. He let them extend and straighten back up behind his back. He walked ten feet away from the edge and faced it. He took a second look and moved ten feet further back. He faced the ravine, shifting on his feet. He looked around for a second, making sure no one was around. Bunching up the muscles in his legs in preparation, Dean situated the wings so they were facing straight back to limit wind resistance as he ran.

Dean launched into a run, heading straight for the ravine. He could feel the anticipation building as though his body knew it was about to be airborne and couldn't wait to get up there. Reaching the edge of the ravine, Dean planted a foot at the edge and threw himself into the air. The wings sprang open on either side of him, catching the air. Amazingly, Dean soared straight forward for a moment. He suddenly realized that he had no clue what to do next to stay in the air.

Dean quickly plummeted down towards the bottom of the ravine. He tucked his head in towards his body, bringing his arms up to his face for protection. The wings wrapped themselves around his body, shielding him as he hit the ground. He rolled over and over along the ground, finally coming to a stop after twenty or so rolls.

The wings unwrapped themselves, and Dean was surprised to find only a few scrapes on his legs and arms. He stood up and dusted himself off with a scowl on his face.

"Having fun?"

Dean spun around to see Sam up at the edge of the ravine he'd just jumped off, arms crossed. "How long have you been there?"

"Long enough," smiled Sam.

Dean scratched at the back of his head. "I was curious."

Sam laughed. "I think you need a little more air time."

"Shut up," muttered Dean as he made his way towards the small cliff face in front of him.

Dean began climbing and when he reached the top, Sam reached his hand down and helped Dean the rest of the way up.

"You want to head to the Grand Canyon and try that again?" asked Sam. "Maybe you just need more lift."

"I'd like to see you deal with these things," said Dean. "It's not as easy as it looks."

"I thought you hated flying," said Sam as they headed back towards Bobby's house.

"Flying in planes," said Dean. "Flying under your own power is something else completely. Why'd you come out here anyway? Just to watch me face plant?"

"Well, Bobby needs to ask you some questions," said Sam.

"What kind of questions that he wouldn't be able to just ask you?" asked Dean.

"I don't know," said Sam. "He just said he needed to ask you questions. While you guys are talking, I'll head out to get dinner."

"Without me?" asked Dean.

Sam looked at him. "Have you seen you?"

"Hey, we went out yesterday," said Dean. "It's Halloween, remember?"

"Yeah, we went to a diner that had a lot of Halloween decorations and costumes," said Sam. "This 'costume' might go over great in a bar or the occasional diner, but you can't go everywhere looking like that."

"I'm gonna go stir crazy," said Dean. "I need to get out of here."

"No, you're not going," said Sam.

"The hell I'm not," said Dean.

"Dean, what is the big deal?" said Sam. "You've been cooped up longer before. What's with the sudden need to be out?"

"I don't know," said Dean. "I just…I feel cramped and…trapped. I can't explain it. It's like something in me needs to be out."

Sam figured that was part of the wings: the need to be outside in the open air.

"Well, you're a sore thumb with those things," said Sam. "So unless you can figure out a way to make them disappear…"

"How am I gonna do that?" muttered Dean.

"I don't know," said Sam. "Start thinking."

They walked into the house and headed for the living room where Bobby sat next to his desk.

"So, what do you want to know?" asked Dean.

"Well, I have to…" Bobby trailed off as he looked up to see dust up and down Dean's outfit. "What happened?"

"He tried to fly," said Sam. Bobby laughed a little, thinking Sam was making a joke. "No, seriously."

Bobby looked at Dean. "Got bored, did ya?"

"Yeah, yeah, laugh it up," said Dean, sitting down backwards on a chair to let his wings hang over the edge of the seat. "What do you want?"

"Well, I need to know what that beer with the potion in it tasted like," said Bobby.

Dean frowned. That was the last question he expected. "What?"

"The potion," prompted Bobby. "What did the potion taste like?"

"Seriously?" said Dean.

"What did it taste like, Dean?" Bobby asked again.

"Um," said Dean. "I don't know. Like beer."

"Just try to isolate the other taste," said Bobby.

"You did say that the second beer tasted different," said Sam.

Dean thought for a moment. "It, um…I don't know. It tasted like…" Dean rolled his eyes. He couldn't quite put his finger on what it tasted like. "I know I've tasted it before. It's, um…oh, man, it was a bacon cheeseburger."

Sam frowned. "A bacon cheeseburger?"

"Yeah, a bacon cheeseburger," said Dean. "I'm sure of it."

"Alright, that makes sense," said Bobby.

Dean looked at him. "It does?"

"Yeah, there's a certain potion that alters the form of someone," said Bobby. "It leaves the taste in your mouth of whatever food the person likes the most."

"Really?" asked Dean.

"No wonder you liked that beer," said Sam. "The combination of all your favorite foods."

"Well, that's great, we figured out what it is," said Dean. "Does it have an antidote?"

"Well, lore says that the only cure for this potion is a mixture that has to be brewed up under a full moon," said Bobby.

Dean closed his eyes. "Please tell me we have another night."

"Nope," said Bobby. "Last one was last night. Looks like we gotta wait for next month."

Dean dropped his head. "Perfect."


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Six

"You ready?" asked Sam from behind Dean.

"Yeah, I'm ready," said Dean, bracing himself.

"Alright, now just try to keep it tight," said Sam, drawing closer to Dean.

"You boys do know how you sound, right?" asked Bobby from across the room.

Sam and Dean looked up at him and then awkwardly at each other.

Dean had come up with an idea of how to hide the wings. He'd, of course, seen it on X-Men. They'd made a harness to keep the wings close to his back and to keep them from moving too much. He would then wear a trench coat to cover them. They were currently trying to get the harness on.

"Bite me," Dean flung at Bobby. He looked at Sam. "Come on. Let's get this over with."

Dean held the wings as close to his body as he could. Sam buckled the harness first around Dean's torso, then looped two separate buckles around the wings, harnessing them to the torso buckle.

"Alright," said Sam. "You're done."

Dean loosened his muscles, looking down at the harness. "Not bad. Problem 2: Where am I gonna get a trench coat?"

"I'll run to a store and buy one," said Sam.

"Why waste the money?" said Dean. "I'll just borrow Cas's." Sam frowned at him. "What? It's not like he needs it."

"Fine," said Sam. He pulled out his cell phone. "Cas, we're at Bobby's."

"Why does Dean have wings?" asked Castiel from the foyer behind them.

Dean looked at him. "I don't know. Angels thought it'd be a laugh."

"Angels would not do this," said Castiel.

"Well, whatever," said Dean. "Point is, I'm stuck like this for a month and need your trench coat."

Castiel frowned. "Why?"

"To put it in my apocalypse scrapbook," scoffed Dean. "Why do you think I need it? I gotta hide the wings."

"Of course," said Castiel. He slowly pulled the tan coat off and handed it to Dean.

Dean accepted the coat, staring in amazement at Castiel. "Wow. You look surprisingly small without the coat."

Castiel frowned again. "I am the same size as I was before."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Forget it." He pulled the trench coat on. "How do I look?"

"Like John Travolta," said Sam. "But with shorter hair."

"Like from his Grease days?" asked Dean.

Sam rolled his eyes sarcastically. "Oh, yeah, exactly like from his Grease days."

Dean glared at him. "Hey, I'm just trying to make this work."

"If you weren't so stir crazy, we wouldn't have to make this work," Sam pointed out.

"Yeah, well, you can talk when you've got wings," said Dean, heading for the door.

"What, you want to go now?" asked Sam.

"Hell, yeah," said Dean. "I'm starving."

"Be sure to get enough bird feed," said Castiel.

Dean, Sam and Bobby all turned wide-eyes on the angel.

"Cas, you just made a joke," said Dean. He looked at the others. "Guys, I think our problems are through. Hell just froze over."

Castiel frowned. "How can hell freeze over?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "It's just an expression."

Castiel looked down at the floor, still frowning. "I still do not understand."

"It's an expression when someone wants to imply something is impossible," said Sam. "Dean was implying that you never joke, and so hell will freeze over before you joke."

Castiel nodded. "I think I understand now." He frowned again. "Is it not normal to joke? I was trying to project a human personality."

"Alright," said Dean. "Nice to know. Let's go."

***********SN*******************

"So, what's with this potion, or antidote, whatever it is?" asked Dean at the cafe. They were sitting at the bar so Dean's wings could hang over the seat. Sam had stood behind him as he sat so he could adjust the trench coat to cover the wings. Sam sat on one side of him and Bobby sat at a table next to the bar.

"Well, it's complicated," said Bobby. "I'd rather not go into it."

Dean frowned. "Really?"

"If I did, you would never drink it," said Bobby. "Trust me, you don't want to know what's in it."

Dean grimaced. "Really? Why does every supernatural antidote have to taste like crap?"

"Well, you can take it up with the hunters who discovered the antidotes," said Bobby. "In the meantime, suck it up."

"Alright, so I'm just supposed to hang around the house while we're waiting for full moon?" asked Dean.

"Probably," said Sam. "We can't risk you getting seen."

"Why not?" asked Dean. "It's Halloween."

Sam dropped his fork and turned in his seat towards Dean. "Imagine what would happen if stories get out about a man with wings—wings that are actually real—and those stories then get into the paper. Then those stories turn when someone spots your 'wing mojo' when you stop a bullet or heal yourself. The stories get out and hunters begin showing up to take care of the problem."

"Hunters only go after stories about things that kill people," said Dean.

Sam chuckled a little, eyebrows raised. "You remember Gordon? All I ever killed was evil, supernatural monsters, and he still wanted to kill me. How about Travis? Jack never hurt anyone—until Travis went after his wife—and he tried to burn him alive…tried to burn his wife, too. Or how about Reggie and Tim? They tried to turn me even though I never…okay, well, maybe they had a reason since they found out I started the apocalypse, but you get the point. Some hunters out there don't see in shades of gray. To them, it's a black and white world out there, and right now, you happen to fall into that black area. Do you really want a Gordon chasing you down and shooting a silver bullet into your heart?"

"Silver bullet?" asked Dean skeptically.

"Well, whatever they might try," said Sam. "Who knows, they might try everything to see what makes you tick. Take this seriously, Dean. I'm not letting some dick of a hunter get his hands on you."

Dean nodded, accepting Sam's point. "You're right. Sorry. I'll try to be more careful."

"Thank you," said Sam. "And you can wander Bobby's junkyard and woods all you want. Just try to stay out of town."

"Will do, Sammy," said Dean.

"Well, we're gonna have to head to town this time," said Bobby.

"Why?" asked Sam.

Bobby handed his newspaper up to Dean, who spread it on the counter. "Demonic omens."

"Where?" asked Dean.

"Next town over," said Bobby. "Crops dead, electrical storms…no doubt about it. I'm out of commission, so Sam needs backup."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Wonderful. Just what I need, to fight demons while I have wings."

**************SN*******************

Dean and Sam crept among the mill, looking for the demon they'd chased out of a house earlier. They had cornered the demon in that house, planning to kill it, but it left the host before they could. They had followed the electrical shortages to the mill. Dean had shed the trench coat in the Impala, and now wore just a T-shirt and the harness.

Dean's head jerked to the side as he heard something moving about on the other side of the warehouse. "You hear that?" he asked in a whisper.

"Yeah," Sam whispered back. "You head around the back, I'll take the stairs."

Dean moved towards the wall on his left, keeping his back to it as he moved. Sam, meanwhile, headed for the warehouse stairs. Dean walked the entire first floor of the mill, finding nothing. He suddenly heard a scuffle upstairs.

"Sam!" Dean called, rushing towards the stairs.

He found nothing on the second, third, fourth, fifth, sixth or seventh floors, so he headed for the roof. He emerged from the door to see a man holding Sam by the throat, holding him at the edge of the roof.

"Howdy there, Dean!" the man called, his eyes turning black. "Aren't you a sight."

"Let him go," Dean demanded as he aimed his gun at the demon.

"Oh, Dean, so dim," said the demon. "You should know by now: guns aren't worth shit against a demon. I mean, you are a hunter, right?"

"Rock salt should hurt like a bitch, though," said Dean. "And, of course, I have this." Dean pulled out Ruby's knife. The demon eyed it angrily. "Who's the dim one now?"

The demon pushed Sam a little more, leaning him over the roof. "I'll shove him off, I swear."

Dean stopped in his tracks. He had been trying to distract the demon as he edged towards them. Sam was grabbing at the hands around his throat, cutting off his ability to speak. He peered out of the corner of his eye down at the pavement seven stories below them.

"Let…him…go…" said Dean maliciously.

"Or what?" said the demon. "Come on, admit it. You'll be relieved. I mean, after all, he did start the apocalypse. He chose a demon over you, he drank demon blood, he rejected you, he freed Lucifer. Why shouldn't I kill him? It'll be one less thing for you to worry about."

Dean shook his head, his eyes still trained on the demon. "I don't blame him." He was only about ten feet away from them, but he knew if he tried to make a move, the demon would simply let go of Sam…and Sam would fall off the building.

"You don't?" said the demon. "You should. I mean, he's the one that killed Lillith, he's the one that beat you near to death to go after Ruby, he's the one that drank all that blood."

Sam was looking at Dean with regret in his eyes.

"It wasn't him," said Dean. "He's not the one that did all that. He was manipulated."

"Same difference," said the demon.

Dean began moving once again. "No, it's not…and you know it."

"Well, then, I guess I'll just have to make the decision for you," said the demon. He promptly let go of Sam's throat, and Sam disappeared over the side of the building.

Without thinking, Dean ran over to the edge and jumped off, reaching out for his brother. He had no clue what he was doing, but he knew he couldn't let his brother die. He grabbed onto Sam, pulling his brother close.

"What are you doing?" Sam yelled.

Dean didn't have time to answer back; they were already at the fourth floor. Dean didn't even think; he just let the wings take over, knowing he had to truth them if he wanted him and his brother to survive. The wings burst out of the harness, shredding it, and spread to either side of him. The wings caught the wind, and Dean could feel them make the tiniest correction: the wings angled forward slightly, letting the wind swoop underneath them and back out behind him.

Amazingly, Dean and Sam soared up away from the pavement, which was only about ten feet away now. Dean flew up over the abandoned parking lot, the wings flapping the slightest bit to keep them airborne.

Sam stared open-mouthed at Dean. "I can't believe you're flying."

"Me either," Dean told him.

Dean wanted to head back to the ground to get into the Impala and burn rubber out of there. The wings twitched a little, and they found themselves circling the parking lot. The wings moved some more, and they swerved toward the ground. Dean swung his legs forward as the ground came up at them. He ran to a stop, letting Sam drop next to him. Dean straightened the wings when he hit so that they were no longer catching wind. He tottered for a moment until he caught his balance.

Dean turned to look at Sam, a grin spreading across his face. "That…was…amazing!"

"Glad you liked it," said Sam. "Now let's get out of here before that demon decides to finish the job."

"He say anything to you?" asked Dean as they ran for the Impala.

"Just that he was pissed at us in general," said Sam.

"For what?" asked Dean.

"They're demons," said Sam. "When are they not pissed at us?" He unlocked the car. "I don't know. He was talking a lot. Wouldn't shut up, really."

"Alright let's get back into town so we can go after the demon in the morning," said Dean, climbing into the backseat.

Sam pulled out of the parking lot, heading back to the motel room. Neither of them noticed the brown-haired woman with black eyes standing at the edge of the parking lot, watching them with a smile.

*****************SN*********************

Michelle walked around the compound, nervous. She didn't know how long they were supposed to wait here, or if they were supposed to lend a hand. Her cell phone rang in her hand, and she opened it to see a text message.

She opened the message and began to smile at what it said. She rushed into the room where the others were.

"Meg sent us a message," Michelle announced, handing Mark the cell phone.

Mark looked at the cell phone, a smile also rising on his face. "This is wonderful. We must get ready. It's only a matter of time now."

He gazed back down at the text Meg had sent:

HE IS READY.

*********************SN**********************

Sam opened his eyes in the motel room. They'd come back the previous night, and Dean had crashed on a bed, the flight having taken a lot out of him. Sam had settled on the other bed, also falling asleep pretty fast.

Sam rolled over, expecting to see Dean lying face down on the bed, snoring away. Dean had taken to sleeping on his stomach and letting the wings drape down on either side of the bed so he didn't sleep on them.

Sam gazed at the empty bed opposite him, his eyes narrowing to see if it was just a trick of his sleepy eyes. His eyes widened when he realized Dean was not in the bed. He looked up at the bathroom to see the door open, the light off, and the room empty.

Sam shot up to see that the Impala was still outside.

_Okay, no need to panic, Sam,_ Sam thought. _He probably woke up early and went for a test flight. Probably wanted to try it out again after last night. That's why the Impala is still here._

Sam pulled out his cell phone and dialed Dean's number.

"_The number you are trying to reach is out of service,"_ came a digital voice on the other line.

Sam's blood ran cold. He dialed Bobby's number.

"What is it?" Bobby answered.

"Have you heard from Dean?" asked Sam.

"No, why?" asked Bobby. "You guys find that demon?"

"Well, we did, but that's not important," said Sam.

"Not important?" said Bobby. "Sam, of course, it's important. How can you—"

"Dean's missing," said Sam.

"He's what?" asked Bobby.

"I woke up, and he wasn't in the room," said Sam. "His phone is out of service, and he's gone."

"Are you sure?" asked Bobby.

"I don't know," said Sam. "I just…" He was silent for a moment as he stared at the doorway.

"Sam?" asked Bobby.

Sam knelt by the doorway, reaching out for a spot on the carpet.

"Sam?" prompted Bobby.

"Bobby…I think he's been taken," said Sam.

"What makes you say that?" asked Bobby.

"The salt line at the doorway is broken," said Sam. "And there's blood on the carpet at the door." Sam looked up at the door, as if seeing the struggle that had gone on. "Dean's been kidnapped."


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Seven

Dean opened his eyes to see brown rafters above him. He sat up in a small cot, looking around. He was in a small room that appeared to be a basement of some sort.

"What the hell…" Dean muttered.

The floor and walls were cement with no windows. The ceiling looked to be the floorboards of the floor above him. The only objects in the room were the cot on which he sat, a table in the corner and a big screen TV built into the wall next to the door.

_The door!_ Dean thought.

He jumped off the coat and rushed to the door, finding it locked. Seeing that it was only a wooden door, Dean pounded on it with his fists and legs several times. He then put his whole body into it, pushing with his shoulder. He finally gave up when it didn't budge.

_Damn, that thing must weigh a ton._

That was when Dean realized he was shirtless.

_Well, at least they left me my pants._

Dean took a second look at his surroundings. The cot had a thin mattress with only one blanket and a pillow. On the table was a bottle of water.

_Alright, the rest of this I get, but—_

"What's up with the plasma?" Dean wondered out loud.

Dean sat down on the cot, letting the wings spread out behind him.

_Alright, think, Dean. What's the last thing you remember?_

He closed his eyes and thought back to his rude awakening. Someone had wrapped a handkerchief around his head, stuffing it in his mouth. The next moment, the attacker had grabbed his hands as he reached to punch him.

As Dean had taken a deep breath to yell as loud as he could through the gag, the attacker had chopped him in the throat. The chop had rendered him gasping for breath, unable to voice to Sam the trouble he was in. When he was aware enough to get his bearings again, he found his hands cuffed behind him and he was being dragged out the door.

Dean had lashed out with his foot, catching it on the doorframe hard enough to feel it all the way up his leg. The sound had bounced around in the room, reaching Sam's bed. The kid had jerked in his sleep, but just rolled over.

Dean frowned. _How could he not have woken up? He's a hunter, for crying out loud!_

"Don't bother," the attacker had breathed in his ear. It was a woman's voice, and it was familiar. "I slipped him a sleeping pill…a couple, actually. He should wake up sometime around noon."

Dean had brought the wings up, sweeping them back to hit his attacker. As they came together, he had felt something stab itself through both wings. He cried out in pain, but it was muffled in the gag.

_How did she do that? I thought they were bullet proof!_

"Hurts, doesn't it?" said the attacker. "It's my own little special blend, kinda like that demon bitch's knife. Gets right past that wing mojo of yours."

Dean could hardly think straight, for the blood dripping onto the floor. The pain hurt like hell. Who knew those things had nerves? He had been dimly aware of his foot getting torn away from the door, scraping along the wood, before he passed out.

Dean opened his eyes and looked down at his foot. _That explains that._

There was a jagged cut on the top of his foot. He glanced back to see the wings had healed themselves. What was bothering him were the voices he kept remembering.

_I think I must have begun to wake up when they brought me here._

He remembered about three or so voices coming from around him.

"_Is that him?" – a woman._

"_Yes, that's him. Magnificent, isn't he?" – a man; he recognized this voice, but who was it?_

"_He's beautiful. He will make a wonderful warrior." – another man._

"_And to think he's been stuck in human form this whole time." – a woman._

"_But it is now your job to make him remember." – another woman, one he recognized…his attacker!_

"_And once he remembers, he can save us all." – a man—the familiar one._

"_I think he's waking up." – a woman._

That's all he can remember before waking in the basement.

_Okay, that narrows things down to, oh, everything._

The door opened, and Dean jumped to his feet, his muscles bunching, his arms in front of him, his jaw clenched, his eyes trained on the doorway, and his wings clenched to his body behind him. A woman walked into the room, and the door closed behind her. She smiled and sighed.

"You're awake," she said.

Dean didn't reply.

"I see you're a bit uneasy," she said.

"A bit uneasy?" Dean bit off. "That's a bit of an understatement after being kidnapped."

She walked forward with a wide, apologetic expression. Dean tensed and edged back, keeping a good distance between them. She stopped with a sad look on her face.

"You don't trust me," she said. Dean huffed a small chuckle, about to retort at her. "And why should you? You've been corrupted by the human world…become just as judgmental and stand-offish as the rest of us. You've lost your faith in people."

Dean frowned, trying to make out what she was all about.

"But you can trust us," she continued. "We're here to help you. My name is Michelle."

Dean didn't answer.

"This is the part where you say, 'My name is Michael.'"

_Oh, great,_ Dean thought. _They've got the wrong guy._

Dean frowned. "My name is Dean."

To Dean's surprise, Michelle just lowered her head with a sad expression. This is just proof of how lost you are. But don't worry. We've found you…and we're not gonna let you keep wandering in the darkness. We'll help you find the light."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Look, lady, I don't know what kind of Koolaid you've been drinking, but you won't get away with this. My brother's looking for me. Sooner or later, I will get out."

Michelle smiled serenely, sending chills down Dean's spine. "Why would you want to? You're home."

The bottom dropped out of Dean's stomach, his blood running cold.

******************SN***************************

"Do you have any clue who, or what, might have taken him?" asked Bobby.

"No," said Sam. "And I don't know where to start."

"Do you think Zachariah finally found him?" asked Bobby.

"I don't know," said Sam, turning towards Castiel. "Cas, can you—"

The angel was already gone.

"When did he—" Sam began to ask.

"It wasn't Zachariah," Castiel said as he appeared in front of them.

"What?" asked Sam. "Did you just check?"

"Yes," said Castiel. "The angels do not have Dean."

"Then who took him?" asked Bobby.

"Good question," said Bobby.

"Demons?" asked Sam.

"Who knows," said Bobby. "We need to find him."

"I won't be able to," said Castiel.

Sam rolled his eyes. "Is there any way around that Enochian sigil?"

"No," said Castiel.

"Any kind of locator spell?" asked Bobby.

"Not for a human," said Castiel.

"Are you sure about that?" asked Sam. Bobby looked at him. "Ruby did a spell once to find Dean. I think I remember it."

"Worth a shot," said Bobby.

**********************SN*******************************

"Home, huh?" said Dean. "This looks pretty far from home."

"I know this seems barbaric," said Michelle. "But sometimes, tough love is needed to break through the veil."

_Man, this girl is all kinds of crazy, _thought Dean.

"Why did you call me Michael?" asked Dean.

"It is the name given to you by your father," said Michelle, still sickly sweet.

"Uh…my father named me Dean."

Michelle's expression darkened suddenly. It was the first time she'd dropped the whole "cute" act. "I am not speaking of your earthly father. John Winchester is an abomination."

"Excuse me?" said Dean.

"He hid you away from the world because he did not want you to fulfill your destiny. Hunters…fundamentalist bastards. Just because something isn't normal, it's automatically evil. John kept you as his own, brainwashed you into believing you were a Winchester. How could he do that to you? How could he kidnap an archangel?"

Suddenly, it all clicked in one horrifyingly clear moment.

"Whoa, wait, that's what you think?" said Dean. "That I'm the archangel Michael?"

"I don't think, I know," said Michelle.

"You are way off, lady," said Dean. "I have met angels, and trust me…I am no angel."

"If you are not, then why do you have wings?" Michelle countered.

"Because you freaks poisoned me!" yelled Dean.

"Lies! It's all lies! We did no such thing! We simply allowed you to reveal your true nature!"

"Are you kidding me?" Dean yelled incredulously.

"You will see…" said Michelle. "We will show you, and you will remember."

"There's nothing to remember!"

The door opened, and Dean's eyes flew to the newcomer. It was a man Dean recognized.

Dean's eyes widened. "You! You're that guy from the bar! You're the one that drugged me!"

Mark shook his head. "It was not a drug. Simply a—"

"A way to reveal my true nature, yeah, yeah," said Dean. "Here's a question: how did you decide I was your 'lost archangel'?"

"We were told by a visitor," said Mark.

"Visitor?" asked Dean, already thinking of the angels giving groups his picture, and these mooks just took it a step too far.

A brunette woman entered behind the two psychos.

"Oh, you have **got** to be kidding me!" yelled Dean.

Meg smiled wickedly. "Hello, _Michael._"

Dean looked at the other two. "You've got it all wrong! She's playing you! She's a demon!"

To Dean's horror, Michelle's eyes brightened, a smile forming on her face.

"You still see us as your enemy," said Michelle. "And naturally, the enemy of an angel is a demon. But this is a good sign. You're beginning to remember."

"I'm not remembering jack squat!" Dean yelled. "She really is a demon!"

"Michael, you are misguided," said Meg, playing along with the charade. "But don't worry, we'll help you find your way."

"You filthy bitch," Dean growled.

He launched himself across the room, using the tension he'd built up in his body as momentum. He got within arm's length of Meg when Mark and Michelle each grabbed him from either side. Dean brought the wings forward on either side of him, curling them around so the bone along the top of each wing collided with his captors. The two of them fell to the ground, and Dean rushed towards Meg, intent on causing as much destruction as he could. Meg stabbed a needle into Dean's neck.

Dean could feel the cold rush of the drug as it rushed through his veins, but he still punched Meg, trying to knock the host out. His limbs began to fade from his control as Meg grabbed hold of him. Dean's limbs flailed as he tried to coordinate his movements, but the drugs were dragging him under. Meg leaned towards Dean's ear as he tried to fight her off.

"Don't worry, Dean," said Meg. "I'll make sure they take good care of you. Sweet dreams."

The world fell away as Dean collapsed to the floor.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Eight

**The following chapter was written with help from the New Living Translation Bible.**

Sam flung the map to the floor in frustration. "Why isn't it working?"

"These people must have hex bags hiding them," said Castiel.

"Which means they have help," said Bobby. "Probably demons."

"Great," Sam huffed. "Any suggestions?"

"None, that I can see," said Bobby. "They're hidden from spell work, demons, angels…" Bobby looked up at Sam. "This doesn't look good, Sam."

"Well, we can't just leave Dean to whatever maniacs have taken him—" Sam began voice rising.

"Nobody said we were doing any such thing, Sam," said Bobby. "We'll look for a way. Calm down." Sam looked at him, brow drawn and breaths coming fast. "Dean needs you calm, Sam."

Sam took a deep breath and sat down. "What can we do?"

"I'll summon some demons, trap 'em, see if they know anything," said Bobby. "You search the hunter circuits, see if anyone's noticed anything. Cas can do recon."

"What is recon?" asked Castiel.

"You can search around for any clues to where Dean might be," Sam explained.

"Of course," said Castiel, vanishing.

"Alright, Bobby," said Sam. "I'll make a few calls."

"Sam," said Bobby. Sam looked at him. "We'll find him."

Sam nodded and went outside to call their contacts.

***********************SN*********************************

Dean opened his eyes as he fought off the drugged sleep. He was on the cot once again, lying on his stomach with his wings laying over the sides of the cot. Feeling a scratchiness in his throat, Dean stood and grabbed some water from the pitcher, downing the whole glass. He heard a zap, and he let the glass drop onto the table and spun around to see the TV on. It was a picture of the archangel Michael defeating Lucifer. A female voice—Michelle's—began speaking over the picture.

"At one time, Satan had been a glorious angel named Lucifer," said Michelle's voice. "But, in pride, he rebelled against God. Revelation 12:7-9 says, 'Then there was a war in heaven. Michael and his angels fought against the dragon and his angels. And the dragon lost the battle, and he and his angels were forced out of heaven. This great dragon—the ancient serpent called the devil, or Satan, the one deceiving the whole world—was thrown down to the earth with all his angels.'"

Dean rolled his eyes. _So, they're trying to brainwash me. Great._

Intrigued, Dean continued to watch the video.

"Lucifer was cast out of heaven," continued the video, as a new picture appeared: a winged figure cowering in the depths of hell. "As a created being, Satan has definite limitations. Although he is trying to tempt everyone away from God, he will not be the final victor."

The picture changed to a picture of Michael and his flaming sword.

"The archangel Michael is a high-ranking angel. One of his responsibilities is to guard God's community of believers.

"Hebrews 1:14 states, 'There fore, angels are only servants—spirits sent to care for people who will inherit salvation.' Angels are God's messengers—spiritual beings created by God who help carry out his work on earth under His authority. They have several functions: serving believers, protecting the helpless, proclaiming God's messages, executing God's judgment, offering encouragement, giving guidance, carrying out punishment, patrolling the earth, and fighting the forces of evil.

"There are both good and bad angels, but because bad angels are allied with Lucifer, they have considerably less power and authority than good angels."

A picture appeared: demons killing an angel.

"These bad angels, or demons, are ruled by Lucifer. They work to tempt people to sin. They were not created by Satan because God is the Creator of all. Rather they are fallen angels who joined Satan in his rebellion.'"

_Yeah, or human souls Satan drags to hell, _Dean thought.

"2 Corinthians 11:14-15 says, 'But I am not surprised! Even Satan disguises himself as an angel of light. So it is no wonder that his servants also disguise themselves as servants of righteousness. In the end they will get the punishment their wicked deeds deserve.'

"Satan and his servants can deceive us by appearing to be attractive, good and moral. Many unsuspecting people follow smooth-talking, Bible-quoting leaders into cults that alienate them from their families and lead them into the practice of immortality and deceit. Don't be fooled by external appearances."

The picture changed to a picture from the movie "Exorcism of Emily Rose." It was Emily smiling in her bedroom. It was replaced by a picture of Emily bent over backwards, face turned to the side and eyes black. Another picture took its place: a picture of an unconscious Dean with his wings on either side of him. Then a picture of Michael.

Dean rolled his eyes again, shaking his head. He shrugged his shoulders, which caused the feathers of the wings to ruffle. Dean couldn't really blame these psychos for thinking he was Michael. They were confused and scared with the apocalypse drawing ever closer around them. But, then again, how hard is it to realize that Meg was a demon?

"But the world has nothing to fear, for Lucifer is not the victor. Revelation 20:1-3 and 7-10 states, 'Then I saw an angel coming down from heaven with the key to the bottomless pit and a heavy chain in his hand. He seized the dragon—that old serpent, who is the devil, Satan—and bound him in chains for a thousand years. The angel threw him into the bottomless pit, which he then shut and locked so Satan could not deceive the nations anymore until the thousand years were finished. Afterward he must be released for a little while.'"

The picture changed to: Lucifer standing in a fiery pit.

"'When the thousand years come to an end, Satan will be let out of his prison. He will go out to deceive the nations—called Gog and Magog—in every corner of the earth. He will gather them together for a battle—a mighty army, as numberless as sand along the seashore. And I saw them as they went up on the broad plain of the earth and surrounded God's people and the beloved city. But fire from heaven came down on the attacking armies and consumed them. Then the devil, who had deceived them, was thrown into the fiery lake of burning sulfur, joining the beast and the false prophet. There they will be tormented day and night forever and ever.'

"This is not a typical battle where the outcome is in doubt during the heat of the conflict. Here there is no contest. Two mighty forces of evil—those of the beast and of Satan—unite to do battle against God."

A picture appeared: an army of demons and an army of angels meeting in a field.

"The Bible uses just two verses to describe each battle: The evil beast and his forces are captured and thrown into the fiery lake, and fire from heaven consumes Satan and his attacking armies."

A picture appeared: fire raining down from the sky onto demons.

"For God, it is as easy as that. There will be no doubt, no worry, no second thoughts for believers about whether they have chosen the right side.

"Satan's power is not eternal—he will meet his doom. He began his evil work in people at the beginning and continues it today, but he will be destroyed when he is thrown into the fiery lake of burning sulfur. The devil will be released from the bottomless pit but he will never be released from the fiery lake. He will never be a threat to anyone again."

The picture was replaced by clips from the recent news: earthquakes, fires, floods, hurricanes, riots, shootings, tornadoes, mudslides, and on it went. It was scenes Dean had been seeing constantly ever since St. Mary's Convent.

"And that time is now. The devil has been released, and Lucifer is among us. And the battle must begin. Michael must strike down Lucifer to save the earth. You must save us, Michael."

The television turned off, and the door opened. Dean slowly turned toward his visitor, glaring at her.

"What is your name?" asked Michelle.

Dean lowered his head a little, glaring straight at her with a steel gaze. "Dean Winchester, you bitch."

Michelle closed her eyes, lowering her head. "Dean is a figment of your broken mind."

She turned and closed the door, leaving Dean behind. And Dean suddenly realized he would not be getting out of here any time soon.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Nine

Sam's cell phone rang in the parking lot. "Bobby?"

"Yeah, it's me," said Bobby.

"Any leads?" asked Sam hopefully, but not expecting anything.

They had been in non-stop Dean-search mode for two weeks, and…nada, zilch, bubkiss. Castiel was getting nowhere, what with the hex bags and the angel protection sigil. Hunters had heard nothing, and of course, the demons weren't saying a word. Sam always asked for leads, and Bobby always said no.

"Yes, Sam," Bobby replied.

It took a moment for those two words to sink in, but once they did, Sam's heart seemed to stop.

"What?" asked Sam.

"Get to my place," said Bobby. "This demon's talking."

"Be there in two hours," Sam said, jumping into the Impala and tearing off down the highway.

************************SN*************************

"What'd he say?" asked Sam as he tore through the front door. "Who took Dean? Where is he?"

"He hasn't said," said Bobby.

"But you said he was talking!" said Sam.

"He mentioned something about knowing where Dean was," said Bobby. "We still have to get the rest of it out of him."

"No problem," said Sam, tearing down the basement stairs to find the demon tied to a chair in a devil's trap. "Where is Dean?"

"I don't know," said the demon.

"Nice try," said Sam. "But you already let slip that you know where he was. And now you're gonna tell me."

"Is that so?" said the demon.

"Yeah, it is," said Sam.

"Or what?" said the demon, with a smirk.

Sam desperately wished for his powers; he could make this demon talk if only he had his powers. Instead, Sam pulled out Ruby's knife, heading towards him.

"Or I kill you," said Sam.

"Please," scoffed the demon. "You're gonna kill me anyway."

Sam shrugged. "True." He crouched in front of the chair, pressing the blade to a very vital area between the demon's legs. "But the question is, how much can I make you scream before I slice your throat?"

The demon smiled. "Go ahead. Give me your best shot."

Sam twisted his wrist, and the demon yelled in pain as Sam stood up.

"That all you got?" the demon gasped "Barely even stings."

"Guess I'll have to try harder, then," said Sam.

Sam turned and grabbed the holy water from Bobby. He forced the demon's mouth open and poured some holy water down his throat. The demon yelled as smoke curled from his mouth.

"Where is he?" yelled Sam.

"I'll never tell you!" the demon yelled.

"Yes, you will," said Sam. He grabbed a tin of salt and coated the knife in water and salt. He stabbed the demon in the leg, grinding it. The demon yelled. "Where is he?"

"I don't know!" the demon yelled.

"Yeah, right," said Sam.

"No, I really don't know!" said the demon. "I know who took him, but I don't know where he is!"

Sam pulled the knife out of his leg, holding it to the demon's eyes. "Tell me everything you know."

"I heard talk that the big man wanted to get Dean out of the way," said the demon.

"Lucifer?" asked Sam. The demon nodded. "He took Dean?"

"No," said the demon. "Why would Lucifer bother himself with your brother? He sent someone else to do it."

"Who?" asked Sam. "I want a name."

"I believe you call her Meg," said the demon.

Sam looked up at Bobby, eyes wide. He looked back down at the demon.

"What did Meg do?" asked Sam.

"She tricked a group of religious fanatics," said the demon. "She told them that Dean was the archangel Michael and that they needed to teach him who he really was because he'd been led astray. She gave them the potion to change Dean and then kidnapped him and took him to them."

"Where?" asked Sam.

"I don't know," said the demon. "I really don't know."

Sam plunged the knife into the demon's chest, killing him. He turned to Bobby.

"Come on," said Sam. "We've got work to do."

**Sorry it was so short, but the next chapter is longer. I've been sitting on these next few chapters that they're just buzzing in my head right now.**


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter Ten

**Two chapters for you guys! Don't worry. Next one will be up by the end of this week.**

Dean was not sure how long he'd been held captive. It could have been days, weeks or even months. After that first day, his captors had only entered to give him a meal once a day and to ask him for his name after that stupid video. The video always played immediately after every time he woke up, which gave Dean the unnerving feeling that he was being watched while he was in here. Sure enough, Dean spotted a small camera up in the corner of the ceiling by the door.

Dean's mind was beginning to wear down. He was hungry most of the time, it was cold and they gave him no shower or soap, for that matter. Their excuse, of course, was that an angel needed none of these "meager human necessities." His mind was simply telling him he was hungry, cold and dirty. They had appeased his pleas for food, trying to ease his mind through this conversion.

The door opened, and Dean's head sprang up. Michelle entered and placed a plate of what looked like meatloaf with corn, green beans and mashed potatoes on the table. She receded back into the hallway. Dean jumped up from the bed, snatching the plate and sitting on the bed. He picked up the fork and immediately went to work shoveling his lunch down.

Dean had begun to lose weight slightly, his bones becoming a little more prominent. The wings, however, still looked as new as the day they'd appeared. Dean wondered why the wings did not heal him from his starvation, but maybe the wings didn't work that way. Maybe they only healed him from injuries.

The hunger and lack of warmth was bending his mind in on itself. He began to wonder why they were doing this. Every time the video ended, Michelle would enter and ask:

"What is your name?"

Dean would always answer with his name, except for the one time after a few viewings when he'd answered:

"Screw you, bitch."

Now, after so many viewings, Dean was beginning to falter. If he really was Dean Winchester, why did they keep punishing him? Why did they not acknowledge his answer? What if he wasn't who he thought he was?

Dean sat on his cot, holding his head in his hands, begging for answers.

_They must be right,_ Dean thought. _They must be. If I'm not Dean, who am I?_

As if in answer to his question, the television popped on, and Dean looked up at it, listening for what answers it might hold.

"At one time, Satan had been a glorious angel named Lucifer. But, in pride, he rebelled against God. Revelation 12:7-9 says, 'Then there was a war in heaven. Michael and his angels fought against the dragon and his angels.'"

Dean suddenly remembered fighting a room full of demons, his brother Sam among them down the hall. Dean had rock salt shells hung across his torso like a shield as he fought one after the other off.

_Wait a minute,_ thought Dean. _Was that the battle? Was that the war they're talking about?_

"Lucifer was cast out of heaven. As a created being, Satan has definite limitations. Although he is trying to tempt everyone away from God, he will not be the final victor.

Dean remembered standing across from Sam:

"_You ever hear the story of how I fell from grace?" asked Sam._

"_I'm a better hunter than you are," said Sam. "Stronger, smarter…I'm the only one who can do this, Dean."_

"_No, you're not the one who's gonna do this," said Dean._

"The archangel Michael is a high-ranking angel."

Dean remembered his friend Castiel:

"_Why do I deserve to get saved?" asked Dean. "I'm just a regular guy!"_

"_You're different," said Castiel. "You don't think you deserve to be saved."_

"_Why'd you do it?" asked Dean._

"_Because God commanded it," said Castiel. "Because we have work for you."_

_Work for me?_ Dean thought. _Why am I so important?_

"Angels are God's messengers—spiritual beings created by God who help carry out His work on earth under His authority. They have several functions: serving believers—"

Dean's memory flashed to a church where he helped chase down the spirit of a priest.

"—protecting the helpless—"

Dean remembered countless times when he'd saved civilians: the two kids with the rawhead, Evan Hudson with the crossroads demon, Flight 424, and many others.

"—proclaiming God's messages, executing God's judgment, offering encouragement—"

Dean remembered talking to Layla:

"_I'm not really the praying type, but I'm gonna pray for you."_

"—giving guidance, carrying out punishment—"

"_Okay, let me out," said Sam._

"_No, not until you dry out," said Dean. "You don't know what you're doing, Sam."_

"_Yes, I do!" said Sam._

"_Then that's worse!" said Dean. "It's not something that you're doing, it's what you are! It means you're a monster."_

"—patrolling the earth—"

Dean remembered driving the Impala back and forth across country, hunting for a job.

"—and fighting the forces of evil."

Dean remembered killing many supernatural creatures in his fight against evil: shapeshifters, werewolves, vampires, demons, rugarus, djinns, changelings…

"2 Corinthians 11:14-15 says, 'But I am not surprised! Even Satan disguises himself as an angel of light.'"

Dean remembered standing in front of Sam:

"_God had Michael cast me into hell," said Sam. "Now tell me: does the punishment fit the crime? Especially when I was right. Look at what six billion of you have done to this thing…and how many of you blame me for it?"_

"Satan and his servants can be deceiving by appearing to be attractive, good and moral."

Dean couldn't deny that Sam was attractive—by female standards. He would definitely be appealing to mankind in general. And no doubt about it, Sam had a way of being _too_ good…almost as though he was trying too hard. Sam definitely had a certain morality about him.

"_No, Dean, that is not our job! Our job is hunting evil! And if these things aren't killing people, then they're not evil!"_

"_We're not gonna kill him until he does something to get killed for."_

"Many unsuspecting people follow smooth-talking, Bible-quoting leaders into cults that alienate them from their families and lead them into the practice of immortality and deceit."

Dean remembered all the times that Sam had fought with their father, "alienating" Dean from his family. And surely, Sam had been practicing immortality and deceit as of late.

"Don't be fooled by external appearances."

Dean saw the picture of himself with wings. He glanced behind his shoulder, seeing the white mound of feathers sprouting from his shoulder blades. He stood from the cot, stretching the wings out on either side of him, spanning ten feet.

_My true form,_ Dean thought.

He glanced at the TV again to see a picture of the archangel Michael, his wings spread on either side of him.

_Michael…_ Dean thought.

"When the thousand years come to an end, Satan will be let out of his prison."

Dean remembered a circle of blood, light flooding out of it.

_"He's coming..."_

"There will be no doubt, no worry, no second thoughts for believers about whether they have chosen the right side. Satan's power is not eternal—he will meet his doom."

"_You are chosen," said Zachariah. "__You're going to stop Lucifer. You want to kill the devil, we want you to kill the devil."_

"The devil has been released, and Lucifer is among us. And the battle must begin. Michael must strike down Lucifer to save the earth. You must save us, Michael."

"_Dad told me something…something about you," Dean told Sam. "He said that I had to save you, and if I couldn't…I'd have to kill you."_

_Yes,_ Dean thought. _He's right. He cannot be saved…Not after everything he's done. If I am Michael…then he would most certainly be Lucifer. Michael…older, obedient, loyal. Lucifer…younger, rebellious…evil._

The television turned off, and the door opened. Dean snapped the wings down as he turned, his face set as the wings folded themselves rigidly against his back.

Michelle stood at the door, frowning at the evident change in him. "What is your name?"

Dean held his head high as he stood tall. "Michael."


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter Eleven

Sam walked around the parking lot, trying to clear his mind as he talked on the phone with Bobby. "So, we still have nothing?"

"Sorry, Sam," said Bobby. "Nothing."

Sam shook his head. "What do we do, Bobby? I mean, Dean has been missing for a month." Sam took a deep breath. "I don't know what to do."

Bobby took a breath also. "Me either, Sam. I don't want to give up. Believe me, I don't want to give up, but…it's not looking good, Sam."

Sam ran a hand across his face. "I can't give up, Bobby. I just can't."

"I know, son," said Bobby. "But we've searched everywhere. I don't know how we're gonna find Dean."

"I'm not giving up, Bobby," said Sam forcefully.

"We're not, Sam," said Bobby. "We're not. Just come on back to my place. We'll look for something else."

Sam nodded. "Alright. I'll head over."

He hung up, heading across the parking lot towards the Impala. He heard a thud behind him, and he turned to see a man crouching on the ground. The guy was barefoot and shirtless, only wearing a pair of rugged jeans. The guy was gaunt, as though he hadn't eaten in, like, a month. He was kneeling on the ground, looking at his feet and his fist on the pavement as though he'd just landed, his wings still stretched up above him.

_Wings?_ Sam thought, eyes going wide. It couldn't be…not after all this.

As the man stood up, he looked up at Sam, his wings snapping down behind him to frame his body.

"Dean?" Sam asked. Dean stared at him. "Oh, my God…" Sam began heading towards Dean. "Dean, what happened? How'd you get away—" Sam stopped walking at the look on Dean's face. He could have sworn it was murderous. Sam stood frozen, staring at Dean. "Dean?"

"No more lies," Dean growled.

Sam frowned. "What?"

"No more lies," Dean continued. "I know what you are."

"What are you talking about, Dean?" asked Sam, his hands stretched slightly towards his brother, wanting nothing more than to find out if Dean was hurt.

"No more games," said Dean. "You know who I am."

Sam frowned, squinting at Dean in confusion. "Yeah…"

"And I know who you are…Lucifer," Dean growled, his steel gaze having never left Sam once.

Sam's eyes widened. "Lucifer?"

_What is Dean on about?_ Sam thought. _Is he upset about the vessel thing?_

"Don't act surprised," said Dean, stepping slowly towards Sam. Sam nervously backed away just as slowly. "You knew I would figure it out sooner or later. And you also know what I have to do." Dean stopped, pulling himself up to his full height. "I have to fulfill my destiny."

"Destiny?" asked Sam. He couldn't think of what Dean was talking about.

_If he thinks I'm Lucifer…then what could this destiny thing be?_ Sam wondered. _I mean, obviously something happened when they held him wherever this past month…_

Sam's eyes widened. _Oh, God…They were trying to get him to be Michael._

"Oh, God…" said Sam. "They really got to you, didn't they?"

Dean just stared at him. Sam tried approaching Dean, but Dean circled to his side, staying away from him. Sam stopped and just faced Dean.

"Dean, those people brain-washed you," Sam insisted. "I am not Lucifer. You are not Michael. You are Dean Winchester."

"Dean Winchester was a figment of my broken mind," said Dean smoothly.

"No!" exclaimed Sam. "They lied to you!"

"They gave me my true form," said Dean, straightening his wings.

"They did this to you!" Sam yelled, trying desperately to get through to him.

_What did they do to you, Dean? _Sam wondered.

"They're the ones that poisoned you and gave you wings!" Sam yelled. "This isn't you!"

"Enough lies, Lucifer," said Dean.

Sam rolled his eyes at the frustration he felt at not getting through to Dean.

"Dad always said I would either have to save you or kill you," growled Dean.

Sam froze at that statement. That simple phrase told Sam that Dean was still in there. He remembered Dad telling him to save Sam or kill him. He had just twisted its meaning with whatever those psychos had done to him.

"You're beyond saving," said Dean, slowly approaching Sam.

Sam stood his ground this time, thinking about what he could do to get through to Dean once more.

Dean came to a stop in front of Sam. "I'm sorry."

Dean threw his hand out, wrapping it around Sam's throat. The power in Dean's hand was unbelievable, the will power fueling his adrenaline. Sam grasped onto Dean's hand, trying to pry it off his throat. He gasped as Dean squeezed his throat shut. Sam fell to his knees, still trying to get Dean's hand off of him.

Sam was beginning to lose oxygen, and his brain screamed at him to take a breath. Sam looked up into Dean's face. Dean stared into Sam's eyes, his face a blank mask. He continued to crush Sam's throat, trying to get rid of this fallen angel once and for all.

Sam could feel the dark abyss of unconscious encroaching on his mind, standing at the edge for when he gave up. Sam had to get through to Dean soon, or they would both regret it. Sam needed to get to his brother; he needed to somehow remind Dean who he really was.

Sam reached up towards his brother's neck, gripping for something he knew should be there.

****************SN******************************************************************************************

Dean looked down at Sam's grasping hand, which was resting on his chest just below his throat. Dean frowned, wondering what Sam was trying to do. Sam just kept grasping at the missing object.

_Wait, missing?_ Dean wondered. _What could be missing? What could I possibly need?_

Dean looked down at the empty chest, thinking about what could have brought that odd word into his mind.

_Is something supposed to be there?_ Dean wondered. _What is it?_

"_An amulet?" said a voice in Dean's mind. "What kind?"_

Dean blinked, trying to figure out where that came from. He thought hard, trying to bring that moment into his head.

"_Very rare, very powerful," said Castiel. "It burns hot in God's presence. It'll help me find Him."_

"_God EMF?" asked Sam. Castiel nodded._

"_Well, I don't know what you're talking about," said Bobby. "I got nothing like that."_

"_I know," said Castiel. "You don't." He looked down at an amulet hanging on a cord from Dean's neck._

Dean frowned. _Is that what's missing? What is it?_

_Dean looked down at his amulet. "What, this?"_

"_May I borrow it?" asked Castiel._

"_No!" Dean insisted._

"_Dean, give it to me," said Castiel._

_Dean hesitated, staring at Castiel. "Alright, I guess."_

_Dean pulled the necklace off and held it out, hanging from his hand. Castiel brought his hand up to grab it, and Dean moved it out of his way, looking him in the eye._

"_Don't lose it," said Dean. He slowly let it drop into Castiel's hand, who took it and put it in his pocket._

_Well, that's good that Castiel has an amulet to find God, _thought Dean. _But why would I be so hesitant to give it up? Isn't finding God a good thing?_

Dean continued to ponder the mystery of the amulet, wondering why it was so important. He could feel the Sam's struggles lessen, the fingers still grasping at the missing amulet.

Dean thought long and hard about the amulet, trying to decipher its mystery.

"_What is that?" asked the voice of an adolescent boy._

"_A present for Dad," answered the voice of a younger boy._

Dean focused on that small memory, trying to figure everything out in his muddled and confused mind.

_Dean stood at a window of a motel room. He appeared to be shorter than normal, probably years younger than he currently was. He was looking at his younger brother Sam, who kneeled in front of the couch, wrapping something in newspaper._

"_Yeah, right," said Dean. "Where'd you get the money? You steal it?"_

"_No," said Sam. "Uncle Bobby gave it to me to give to him. Said it was real special."_

_But why is it so special? _Dean wondered. _That's what I don't understand. Why is it so special?_

"_Here, take this," said Sam, holding out his newspaper-wrapped present to Dean._

_Dean shook his head. "No. No, that's for Dad."_

_Sam held the parcel in his lap for a moment. "Dad lied to me. I want you to have it." He held the gift out to Dean again._

_Dean looked down at it, and then looked up at Sam. "Are you sure?"_

"_I'm sure," said Sam._

_Dean took the gift and began to unwrap it. He unfolded the paper, finding a bronze amulet on a cord in the paper. Dean held the amulet in his palm, staring at it._

"_Thank you, Sam," said Dean. "I…I love it."_

_Dean grabbed the cord and pulled it over his head, looking down at the amulet hanging against his chest. Dean looked up at Sam with a smile, and Sam smiled back at him._

Memories came flooding through Dean's mind, scenes of what the amulet really meant. Sam and Dean riding in the Impala side-by-side across the country, Sam and Dean pranking each other for kicks on the long hunts, Sam and Dean hanging at a bar and sharing a few beers, Sam and Dean fighting for each other's lives, Sam and Dean playing soccer on the weekends at the local park when they were kids…

Dean's mind cleared the fog and brought the truth to his awareness. Sam, the brother he would die for. Sam, the brother he sold his soul to save. Sam…the brother he was crushing the life out of.

Dean's eyes widened, and he released Sam's throat, staring at Sam in astonishment. Sam gasped as he sat down on the ground, coughing and trying to breathe through his abused throat. His windpipe was crushed, and the cartilage around his larynx would not open back up. Sam grabbed at his throat as he fell onto his back. Dean watched in horror as Sam's struggles ceased and he passed out.

"Sam?" Dean asked shakily, feeling the effects of a month of food deprivation.

Dean fell to his knees, crawling towards his brother. Sam did not respond, lying deathly still on the pavement. Dean raised his hand, trying to reach towards Sam.

"Sammy?" Dean whispered, his voice practically gone.

The wings trailed along the ground at his side, his muscles too weak to move them. Dean could feel the starvation and cold draining the left-over adrenaline and strength from his body. Dean's eyes fell closed as he collapsed onto the ground face first.

Unseen by the brothers, one of Dean's wings swept forward slowly, coming to a rest on top of Sam's face and beginning to glow.

Sam's eyes sprang open, and he found a blanket of feathers on top of his face. He swept the blanket away to find that it was one of Dean's wings. Sam jumped up and knelt over Dean's starved body.

"Dean?" asked Sam. "Oh, God."

Sam shook Dean, trying to get a response. There was nothing.

"Alright…" said Sam. "Alright…Hang on, bro."

Sam rushed over to the Impala, pulling it up towards Dean's body. Sam pulled Dean into his arms, pulling him into the backseat. Sam jumped into the driver's seat, peeling out of the parking lot towards the nearest motel. Sam glanced back at Dean, noticing the pale skin and sunken eyes of his brother.

"Hang on, Dean," said Sam. "Just hang on."

********************************SN******************************

Meg walked into the compound, finding Michelle standing in the kitchen. Michelle looked up as Meg approached her.

"And how is our young angel?" asked Meg in a sweet voice.

"He's doing wonderfully," Michelle answered with a smile.

Meg frowned. _That wasn't the answer I was expecting._

"I want to see him," said Meg. "I want to make sure he's alright." Meg turned away, heading for the basement door.

"Oh, you can't," said Michelle.

Meg turned towards her. "And why not?"

"He's not here," said Michelle.

Meg froze, staring at Michelle. "I'm sorry. I think I must have misheard you. You said he's gone?"

"Yes, he left this morning," said Michelle.

Meg got up in her face. "And why would you let him leave?" she yelled.

"Because he remembered," said Michelle.

Meg blinked, frowning at her. "He what?"

"He remembered," said Michelle. "He said he needed to go after Lucifer and save the earth. He flew away this morning."

Meg grabbed Michelle by her hair, forcing her head back.

"And you let him leave?" Meg yelled.

Michelle gasped, her wide eyes staring in fear at Meg. "Yes! You said we needed to help him remember and we did! He remembered! Now he is free!"

"You idiot!" Meg yelled. "You were never supposed to let him go!"

"But why would we keep an angel hostage?" Michelle asked.

"Where did he go?" Meg yelled. Michelle frowned, stunned into silence. Meg shook Michelle. "Where?"

Michelle closed her eyes, afraid for her life. "He said something about his brother lying to him."

Meg closed her eyes in frustration. _Father is going to kill me. I was meant to keep Dean away, not sic him on Father's vessel._

Meg opened her eyes and glared at Michelle. "How unfortunate." She twisted Michelle's neck, killing her instantly.

Meg stormed through the compound, killing every accomplice in the building in her rage. Meg stood at the doorway to Dean's prison, breathing heavily in anger.

"Oh, Dean, you're going to pay," Meg growled.


	13. Chapter 13

Sorry I haven't updated in a while. I promise you I am working on it. But I was finishing up my book (which I have now finished), and getting ready to submit my book to the publisher. I also am getting ready for a new college major and trying to work. On top of it all, the publisher I chose is a scam artist and a total crook, so now I have to search for a new publisher. So, I will update soon, I promise. I just don't know when.


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter Twelve

Sam pulled his unconscious brother across the floor and onto a motel bed. He slammed the room door closed and rushed over to the beds, throwing the covers from the second bed onto Dean. Sam hurried to the small kitchen, filling a glass with water. He hurried back to the bed, propping Dean up, his back against Sam's chest. Dean's head fell back onto Sam's right shoulder, mouth hanging open.

"Dean," Sam said urgently. "Dean." Sam put a hand to Dean's face, shaking his head a little. "Dean."

Dean's head jolted towards Sam's neck and away from the shaking hand.

"Dean, wake up," Sam told him.

"Mm," Dean mumbled as his limbs moved slightly.

"Dean, you need to wake up for me," Sam pleaded, bringing the glass of water to his mouth. "Drink, Dean."

Sam tilted the cup so the water trickled into Dean's mouth a little. As the water hit his parched, palate, Dean latched a hand onto Sam's forearm and began to gulp the water down.

"Slow, Dean," Sam told him.

Dean paid him no heed and was quickly done with the glass. As the refreshed charge left Dean, his arm fell back to the bed, and his head fell back against Sam's shoulder, once again completely out of it. Sam gently laid Dean back onto the bed, grabbing a chair and pulling it up close to the bed to wait for Dean to wake up.

********************SN*********************************************************************

Dean slowly came back to consciousness little by little, feeling his body's protests to the treatment over the past month. His muscles ached as his starved body tried to nourish itself on the nutrients in his muscles. His brain felt foggy and light from the lack of food, sleep and warmth. He could feel a blanket over him, giving him a little warmth. He grasped the blanket and pulled it closer around him.

"Dean?"

Dean could hear his brother speaking, and he tried to open his eyes, but they wouldn't obey him. He rolled weakly over onto his back before he realized that he couldn't…he still had wings. Dean settled for lying on his shoulder and fought to pull his eyes open. An empty chair met his gaze, and he leaned up against the headboard of the bed to look down at the foot of the bed. Sam was standing in the doorway of the bathroom, looking at Dean anxiously.

"S'mmy…" Dean mumbled, lazily wiping a hand across his eyes. "I feel like shit."

Sam laughed a little. "I'll bet."

Dean laughed as much as he could with Sam, feeling a special ache in his right hand and forearm, different from all the others. It was as though he had used all the strength and power in that arm and hand to do something…

_Dean threw his hand out, wrapping it around Sam's throat. The power in Dean's hand was unbelievable, the will power fueling his adrenaline. Sam grasped onto Dean's hand, trying to pry it off his throat. He gasped as Dean squeezed his throat shut. Sam fell to his knees, still trying to get Dean's hand off of him._

_Sam looked up into Dean's face. Dean stared into Sam's eyes, his face a blank mask. He continued to crush Sam's throat, trying to get rid of this fallen angel once and for all…_

It finally hit Dean what had happened: the brainwash, the conversation between him and Sam before he tried to crush his throat, the memories that had come flooding back at the last second…

Dean's eyes widened as he sat up straighter—or, at least, tried to. A weakened, half-powered lurch didn't do much.

"Sammy!" said Dean, raising an arm towards Sam as he tried to get to him. "Are you okay? Did it—"

"Dude, I'm fine," said Sam. Dean gave him a look. "No, really, I am." Sam raised his head a little so Dean could see that his neck supported no bruises whatsoever. "See?"

Dean relaxed into the bed, his adrenaline leaving him again. That caused Dean's strength to wane again, and he collapsed back onto the mattress.

Sam crossed over to the chair and sat down. "Are you okay?"

"I think so," said Dean. "What happened?"

"Well, I was hoping you could tell me," said Sam, leaning forward and placing his elbows on his knees.

Dean lay on his left shoulder, the wings collapsed onto the bed behind him, and he put his right arm to his forehead, rubbing it back and forth. "Uh…I remember talking to you and trying to…kill you. And then…it was like all the memories came back and I let you go, and you collapsed to the ground. Your throat was crushed, and you passed out. I tried to get over to you and help you, but I was so weak. Next thing I now, I blacked out."

"Well, you did help me," said Sam. Dean lowered his hand to look at him. "I woke up with your wing over my face. Looks like you healed me in your sleep."

"I did?" said Dean, a confused look on his face. Sam nodded. Dean smiled. "Of course I did. I'm your brother. I'm not gonna let anything happen to you."

Sam did not respond, but hung his head. He looked back up at Dean with the worse case of guilt Dean had ever seen on his little brother's face. "Too bad I couldn't return the favor."

"Hey, don't you do that," said Dean. "Meg kidnapped me and drugged you. You couldn't do anything."

"Yeah, I know," said Sam. "I just…I should've laid the salt down, and I…I didn't 'cause I was too tired."

"Hey, in case you remember, there's two of us," said Dean. "I didn't lay it down either."

Sam nodded, accepting that. "So, what happened? What did they do to you?"

Dean paused, looking down at the bedspread. "Sam, I…"

"No, Dean, you're not skipping out on this," said Sam. "I need to know what happened."

"Sam," said Dean, trying to get him to stop. "Later, okay?"

"Dean—"

"Sam, later," said Dean, with a look in his eyes that Sam rarely saw. "After I eat, please. I haven't hardly eaten the past few weeks."

Sam's eyes widened. "Oh, my God. Sorry."

Sam jumped up and headed for the food he'd bought for when Dean woke up. He came back over to the bed and helped Dean to sit up against the headboard, the wings on either side of him. Sam placed the bag of diner food next to Dean.

"You need help because you look weak, so—" began Sam.

"Sam, I'm thirty years old," Dean muttered. "I don't need anyone feeding me."

Sam smiled and leaned back in his chair to let Dean eat. Dean chowed down on his meal, practically inhaling it. Tossing the wrapper into the bag, he moaned.

"Oh, now **that** is good," said Dean.

"So…what happened?" prompted Sam.

Dean took a breath and crossed his arms across his chest. "I woke up in a basement. There was a cot, a table with a pitcher of water, and a plasma."

Sam just stared at him. "A plasma?"

"Yeah."

"What did they use that for?"

"Education," Dean answered. Sam frowned in confusion. "I'll get to that in a minute." Dean settled himself more comfortably on the bed. "Anyway, this woman walked in and started talking about how I've been corrupted by humans and that my name was Michael and that I was lost and that Dad had taken me and brainwashed me into thinking I was Dean. It was then that I realized that they thought I was Michael…the angel. Not that the whole wing-thing helped. We argued for a bit. No matter what I said, she would dismiss as some quirk in my unstable mind. Then the guy from the bar who drugged me came in with Meg. She was trying to get those freaks to think I was Michael so they would keep me there."

"Yeah, I heard that part," said Sam. Dean looked at him. "This demon Bobby and I captured told us the whole story. He said that Lucifer sent Meg to get you out of the way."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Well, that explains a lot. I thought Meg was just pissed."

Sam and Dean laughed together.

"And, well, they knocked me out 'cause I tried to get past them to the door," Dean went on. "When I woke up again, the TV came on and started playing a video. It was talking all about Michael and Lucifer and heaven and angels and the final battle. Then it was telling me that I was Michael and that I had a 'destiny' to fulfill. The video would turn off and the woman—Michelle—would walk in and ask me my name. It went like that every single day. They only fed me once a day, and it wasn't a big meal.

"Over time, the lack of food started messing with my head. I starting thinking they were right. I mean, why else would they punish me if I was telling the truth. Then the video came on one last time, and my brain seemed to accept it. I mean, in a twisted way, the story fit. So they came in, and I said my name was Michael, and they let me go upstairs with them. We talked for a while, devising battle strategies. Then I told them I had to go after the devil, and I flew out of there. And…well, you know the rest."

"Why did you choose me?" asked Sam, his expression a little hurt. "Why was I the devil in your mind?"

"I don't really know," said Dean. "The phrases from the video would trigger memories. That fight with Henrickson in the jail, surrounded by demons and you were there. When Zachariah took me to 2014 and I spoke to Lucifer in your meat suit. And then what Dad told me before he died." Sam nodded, showing he knew what Dean meant. "It all kind of melted together in my head, and that's what I ended up with. I mean, I hadn't eaten in a while, Sam. My brain wasn't a hundred percent. I can't say for sure why my brain substituted you for the devil. All I can say is, I'm sorry."

"It's okay," said Sam. "It wasn't your fault. Meg is a bitch."

Dean laughed, nodding. "That she is." Dean looked at the clock on the bed stand. "How long was I gone?"

"A month," said Sam.

Dean looked up at him. "Tell me we have time for that antidote."

Sam shook his head. "Full moon was a couple days ago. You have to wait another month."

Dean slammed his head back against the headboard, eyes closed. "Dammit. I was hoping Bobby had it ready for me."

Sam's eyes widened. "Oh, my God! Bobby!" He jumped up and rushed over to his cell phone on the table.

"What?" asked Dean, weakly leaning forward. "What is it?"

"I forgot to call him," said Sam. "He still thinks you're missing."

Dean leaned back against the headboard as Sam dialed the number. "Well, let's not keep him in suspense."


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter Thirteen

Four days later, Dean and Sam were staying at Bobby's. Dean had finally—readily—agreed to stay out of sight and at Bobby's no matter what. Sam guessed getting captured and near-tortured for a month would do that to you. Dean had spent the first two days mostly sleeping—more the first day than the second—and eating. He had regained his strength by the second afternoon, and he spent the third day training and strengthening his muscles. The fourth day, Sam hadn't seen him since breakfast.

"Hey, Bobby," Sam called.

Bobby turned from the truck he was working on. "Yeah?"

"You seen Dean lately?" asked Sam, worried that Dean had finally gotten enough cabin fever and had broken his promise to stay hidden.

"He headed into the woods about ten this morning," said Bobby. "Haven't seen him since."

Sam looked around at the driveway and car lot. "Um…Bobby? Where's the Impala?"

Bobby looked around and noticed the missing car. "Dammit, Dean."

Sam heard a familiar engine howling down the road, and he turned to see the Impala tearing into the lot. Dean pulled the car to a stop and jumped out. His left wing—which had been curled up between his body and the door—and his right wing—which had been draped across the passenger seat—unfurled and stretched as he walked towards Bobby and Sam. He dropped the wings back down behind him.

"Hey, Sam, come on," said Dean.

"I thought you said you weren't gonna go anywhere," said Sam.

"I didn't," said Dean. Sam gave him a look. "I really didn't. I didn't go anywhere where people were."

Sam frowned. "Why?"

"Just come on," said Dean, heading back towards the car.

"What are you doing?" asked Sam, following him.

"Not me, us," said Dean. "Come on."

"I don't think I trust you," said Sam.

"Just hop in," said Dean. "Got a surprise."

Sam stopped beside the passenger door. "No, thanks. I know what your definition of surprise is. I'll pass."

"Get in the car, bitch," said Dean.

"Jerk," Sam automatically responded as he climbed into the car. "You gonna fit?"

Dean climbed into the car very carefully, positioning the wings over the back of the seat and letting them fall into the floor well of the back seat. He had to sit up straight so the joints could clear the top of the front seat, but at least he was driving now.

"Happy now?" asked Sam.

"Yeah," said Dean.

"Where we going?" asked Sam.

Dean started the engine. "You know, Sammy, you really don't understand the concept of 'surprise,' do you?"

Sam smiled and leaned back in his seat. "Alright, alright."

Dean turned AC/DC on as he drove. Sam waited as Dean took the car up into the woods behind Bobby's house. He began heading up into the hills and stopped at a scenic overlook. Sam climbed out of the car to see that the scenic overlook was at the edge of a cliff. It looked like a three hundred foot drop. Sam turned to see Dean slowly climbing out of the car, his head turned to see if his wings were caught. He closed the door and walked over next to Sam.

"This is the surprise?" asked Sam. "I've been up here with you when I was thirteen, Dean."

"I know," said Dean. "Great, huh?"

Sam looked out at the view, frowning. _Since when does Dean sight-see?_

"Okay," said Sam. "Well, was there something else? 'Cause I don't see why you wouldn't tell me about this."

Dean looked over at Sam and smirked at him. Dean walked to within six inches of the edge, letting the wings spread slowly out to his sides. Sam watched as Dean's wing span stretched out to its max.

"You…wanted me to watch you try to fly?" asked Sam, hiding a laugh. Dean turned, pulling the wings in, and smiled at Sam. Sam's smile faded at the look on Dean's face. "What?"

"Ready for an awesome ride?" asked Dean.

Sam's eyes widened. "You want me to go with you?" Dean smiled. "You're insane. I'm not going with you."

"Oh, come on, you know you want to," said Dean.

"Dean, you can't seriously want to 'go flying,'" said Sam.

"Aw, man, let's live a little before we clip these wings," said Dean.

Sam stared at him. "You're serious?"

Dean just smiled. "Once in a lifetime opportunity, Sammy."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Fine."

Dean stepped over towards Sam, grabbing Sam's left arm and throwing it over his shoulders. Dean grabbed a hold of the back of Sam's jacket.

"Now what?" asked Sam.

Dean looked over at him, with a smirk on his face and a look in his eyes that made Sam suddenly nervous. "Hold on."

Dean suddenly ran towards the edge, dragging Sam alongside him.

"Wait, Dean, Dean—" began Sam.

Dean hit the edge of the cliff and dived off of it with Sam in tow. The two of them fell for about twenty feet, and then Dean swept the wings out suddenly. The wind caught the wings, and Dean soared back up, flying across the valley underneath them. It felt so weird flying around like they belonged there. Dean kept to the air currents and the thermals—those pockets of warm air that rise up from the earth and catch a bird's wings. He turned so expertly; it was as though he'd grown up in the air.

Sam looked sideways over at him. "So that's where you disappeared to today. You've been practicing." Dean smiled at him. "How'd you practice to take someone with you?"

"I took Bobby with me," said Dean. Sam almost let go of Dean's shoulders in surprise. Dean laughed. "No, I took my duffel."

Sam burst out laughing. "Can you imagine you and Bobby playing Superman?"

Dean laughed out loud as they circled around and headed back towards the Impala. Dean landed them back on the cliff, hardly stomping up a dirt cloud.

"Come on," said Dean. "Let's head back to Bobby's. I'm starving."

They climbed into the car, Dean once again in the driver's seat, and headed back the way they came. Bobby wasn't outside when they got back. Sam and Dean went inside, and Dean rummaged in the kitchen for something to eat.

Sam walked into the living room, but Bobby wasn't there either. Sam frowned.

"Bobby?" Sam called. There was no response. "Hey, Dean."

"Wha'?" asked Dean, his mouth full from the sandwich he'd just fixed.

"Stay here, alright?" said Sam. "I'm gonna go check on Bobby."

"'Kay," said Dean, absorbed in his sandwich.

Sam walked downstairs, heading for the basement. He stopped when he spotted Bobby tied up in the corner.

"DEAN!" Sam yelled as he spun to face off with the attacker he'd sensed coming from behind.

Sam blocked a punch and a few kicks before he caught a good look at his attacker.

"Oh, you bitch," Sam growled.

"Good to see you again, Sammy," said Meg, swinging a fist at his face.

Sam blacked out.

*****************************SN***************************************

Dean rushed down the stairs, coming to a stop at the bottom to see Bobby and Sam tied up in the corner, unconscious. Dean rushed over to his brother.

Dean checked his brother's pulse and made sure he was breathing. Dean looked over at the rest of the basement to search for whoever was down there. There was nothing, and Dean looked up at Bobby, checking his breathing and pulse. Both of them were fine, and Dean began shaking Sam awake.

Sam moaned, but didn't wake up.

"Well, isn't this nice," came a voice by the stairs.

Dean spun around, his knees bent and wings tight against his back. Dean glared at Meg. "You have some nerve coming to find me."

"What can I say?" said Meg, smiling. "I missed you."

"Well, I hope you got a good look," said Dean. "'Cause I'm sending you packing."

"Aw, what's the matter, Deano?" said Meg, walking towards him. "Something I said?"

"No," said Dean. "I just hate you out of principle."

"Ooh," said Meg, swinging a fist at Dean's head.

Dean ducked and circled around behind Meg, kicking her in the back. Meg spun around, raising her arm, but Dean grabbed her arm and flung her across the room. Meg jumped up and rushed back towards Dean, hitting him in the face and torso a few times. Dean stumbled to his knees, winded, and Meg wrapped her hand around his neck, dragging him up onto his feet in front of her.

"Say goodbye, Dean," said Meg. "I'll see you in hell."

"Dean!" Sam yelled from his spot on the floor.

Dean brought his wings forward, not really a hundred percent sure what he was doing, and wrapped them around Meg. As Meg collided with his body, her arm scrunched up against Dean's chest, the wings wrapped tight around Meg's body. Meg screamed as the wings enfolded her. The wings began glowing, and Meg screamed louder. Black smoke flew out of her mouth and disappeared upstairs through the house. Dean's wings unfolded themselves, coming back around behind him, and Meg's host body fell to the floor.

Dean stared in amazement at the body before looking back behind him at Sam. Bobby had woken up also.

"How did you do that?" asked Sam, staring at him.

"I have no idea," said Dean. He smiled. "But that was awesome."

Dean walked over and untied Bobby and Sam. Sam walked over to the host body as Dean followed him. Sam looked up at Dean.

"You know she'll be back sooner or later, right?" said Sam.

Dean nodded. "I'm counting on it."


	16. Chapter 16

Fourteen

**A few weeks later…**

"Alright, when is this thing gonna be ready?" asked Dean.

"Give it another hour," said Bobby.

"Fine," said Dean. "I'll be outside."

Dean walked outside, looking up at the full moon. Sam followed him, standing up on the porch and watching him. Dean circled the junkyard a couple times, letting the wings open up and close every minute or so.

Dean then stopped out in the middle of the junkyard. He spread the wings up on either side of him, curling them around so he could see them. Dean reached a hand out and stroked one of the wings. Sam watched him curiously. It almost looked as though Dean was sad to see them go, as though he'd grown fond of them. And, why not? He'd had them for over two months.

Sam walked over towards Dean. "Second thoughts?"

Dean turned towards Sam, his wings still held in front of him. He looked down at the wing he was touching. "No." He looked up at Sam. "I just…I mean, yeah, they're kind of cool sometimes. I mean, I can fly, for one thing. And they sure would come in handy when we're hunting, you know, the whole healing and exorcizing demons thing. But…it kind of makes it hard to go anywhere or investigate cases or hustle pool or hook up with chicks." Dean looked up at him. "So, yeah, I'll miss 'em, but I'm gonna be glad to see 'em go."

Sam smiled, reaching a hand out to touch the other wing. He'd never once felt what they were like. His hand graced the feathers, feeling the lightness and…cloudness of them. That's what they felt like…clouds.

"You boys ready or you want to keep stroking Dean's feathers?" asked Bobby from the porch.

Sam and Dean looked up at Bobby and at each other uncomfortably. They quickly separated and headed back towards the house. Bobby led Dean and Sam into the kitchen, heading to the table. A pot of some awful looking stuff sat in the middle of the table.

Dean leaned over the pot and inhaled, but quickly pulled his head away. "Aw, man. Do I really have to drink that?"

"Yep," said Bobby. He scooped some into a glass and held it out to Dean. "Cheers."

Dean grabbed the glass with a grimace on his face. He took one last sniff, rolling his eyes and holding the glass at the end of his arm. Bobby watched him with an impatient expression.

Dean lifted the glass. "Bottoms up."

He tossed the glass back, swallowing the horrid stuff. He lowered the glass and turned his head as the taste hit his tongue. He made a face at the taste as he set the glass on the table (A/N note: looks like the face Dean made after drinking the Dream Root).

Dean looked back at the wings on his back and frowned, looking back at Bobby. "It's not working."

"Give it time, boy!" said Bobby.

Dean stood in front of Bobby and Sam, waiting for something to happen. They all stood there for a good two minutes before Dean rolled his eyes.

Dean looked at Bobby. "So, how are we supposed to know it's gonna…"

Dean's eyes rolled up into his head, and he dropped to the floor, the wings going limp underneath him.

"Dean!" Sam called, rushing over to Dean. Dean was unconscious. Sam looked up at Bobby. "Was that supposed to happen?"

"Yep," said Bobby. "Come on, let's get him to a bed."

**************************************************SN****************************************

Dean felt a pounding headache as he opened his eyes. Sam was sitting next to the bed Dean was lying in, waiting.

"Ah, damn," Dean muttered, rubbing his forehead against the ache. He looked up at Sam, almost dreading the answer. "Did it work?"

"See for yourself," said Sam, nodding at the bed behind Dean.

Dean turned his head, glancing over his shoulder. He still saw white feathers on the bed behind him. "So, it didn't work?"

Sam rolled his eyes. "Take a closer look, Dean."

Dean leaned up on his elbow, turning…and the feathers didn't turn with him. There were feathers lining the bed in the shape of wings behind him. Dean put his hand in the feathers to see that it was indeed nothing but feathers; no bones or muscles, just feathers. He looked over at Sam with a confused look on his face.

"You, uh…shed them in your sleep," Sam answered.

Dean nodded. "Like a bird?"

"Birds molt, Dean," Sam told him.

Dean frowned. "What?"

"Never mind," said Sam, getting up. "So, what now?"

"Bar," said Dean, getting out of bed. "Now."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Of course. Oh, by the way, Bobby says he's got a new hunt. I'm not so sure about it."

"What is it?" asked Dean, heading out to the Impala as Sam followed him.

"Some guy had a head-on collision in his garage," said Sam, getting into the car with Dean.

Dean stopped as he put the key into the ignition. "Parking garage?"

"Um, Bobby said it was his house garage," said Sam.

"Head-on?" said Dean. Sam nodded. "Dude, we gotta check that out."

Dean turned the ignition, and they tore out of Bobby's junkyard.

THE END


	17. Chapter 17

**WARNING!**

**Public service announcement!**

I am not quitting fanfiction! I am currently working on printing and binding my current stories for my storage. When I am finished with that, I will work on my stories again.

I will first do a songfic (my first one). Then a season three story. Then a mermaid story. Then Don't You Cry No More 3. Then The Winchester That Wasn't 2. I'm excited about all of them!

I'll see you guys in a few weeks!


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